After The Party
by MissingMisserMisses
Summary: It began with Stan Marsh one morning after a Thanksgiving break party with his classmates, waking up hung-over to find a tattoo of a heart stitched into his hand. Please Review I guess. -MMM
1. Chapter 1 Heart Tattoo

Chapter One "Heart Tattoo"

There were five things Stan Marsh grew aware of upon waking up one Sunday morning in late November, during the thanksgiving break of South Park's high school year.

The first, of which is no surprise; the hangover acting like as a metaphoric meteor crashing in in head. Part of which was met with the emptiness and troublesome pit of nausea form in the pit his stomach. He surely was no stranger to the punishment for the over consumption of the devil liquid, but he was also friends with a McCormick and the son of an alcoholic. Thusly, he gave it the finger mentally and hesitated opening his eyes.

The second; the cool surface of the toilet seat, which his forehead rested upon. Albeit a bit surprised he managed to fall asleep in this odd position- his back arched, the aching and sore of his knees on cold bathroom tile.

Third; Stan had no pants. Now this was an important realization, given with out opening his eyes he quickly reached down to check if he did still have his underwear (which thank god he did). Of course these sorts of occasions got crazy, the youth of South Park were used to substance abuse and high school party level debauchery. It was just a real drag trudging through someone's home the morning after, stepping over the bodies/probably corpses knowing his own hangover, in search of his jeans.

Probably around a flagpole somewhere at this fucking rate.

He gripped the toilet seat, taking slow shallow breaths fearing a surge of stomach acid before opening his eyes. He was thinking back to the first hangover he ever had and being caught by his father in their bathroom at home. Instead of shaking his head and spitting lectures at him like his mother would have, and marched to the kitchen and returned to his fallen son with Tylenol and a glass of water.

' _Son, if you're going drink the weakest of my stash, the least you can do is not die from it._ '

The morning stung his eyes, gluing their lids together before giving and revealing the bloodshot swirling pools of brown. Stan chuckled at the lack of puke in the bowl. A shaking grin formed on his lips as he placed both palms on the toilet seat, bringing his knees up from the unforgiving tile. He pushed against the crappy throne, forcing his muscles to flex to his command.

His socked feet found shaking footing, making a move to stand straight up while also not wanting to teeter over into the shower beside him. Red lines traced his legs in a grid like pattern from the tiles in the skin of his knees and shins.

With the grace of a toddler after two years, Stan walked to the mirror to meet his reflection with the mutual distaste it had prepared for him.

His coal black hair was flattened on one side from the toilet pillow, dark bag beginning to form under his eyes, the near pale complexion of his face, and a sweaty probably sick expression on his face.

His hand found the knobs of the sink as he made a viable attempt to wash away the possible shame of the night before, the big party Bebe had planned during Thanksgiving break with a huge chunk of the student body but 'mostly just you guys and a few close friends', he mocked to himself.

As skin met with water, Stan screamed out in agony. His right hand clutching at his left, feeling as if this were really the bathroom sink or if he had wandered all the way to the kitchen to wash them in the fucking stove.

He had backed into the wall and almost fell over, meeting his shoulder with the bathroom door. The nerves in his hand screamed out, so high he wondered for a second if that's why he couldn't hear them, and if that screaming nerves expression holds any water before daring to look at his hand. He did.

And met the fourth thing.

"Oh…for fuck's sake…" He slurred his words at the ink on the back of his left hand. A heart; rosy red and pulsing, probably to do with the fact that it was still fresh and the skin had not yet healed. Stinging pink skin kissed just the edges of the image, going along the lines of the drawn in stitching of the heart to his hand.

He stared, his eyes tracing over every line, the hue of the color sending a warm weird feeling in his gut. Or he was going to throw up, that is always a possibility.

Stan sighed. "Fuck it." He reached for the medicine cabinet and searched for anything like gauze, finding a mostly used roll of bandaging.

After getting his hand together, Stan took a daring step outside the bathroom and peered down the hall. Shoes and a couple of empty bottles and cans littered their way up to the door from the living room.

Tiptoeing out into the living room, Stan watched the unconscious faces of a few kids he recognized from school. He gritted his teeth stepping over whom you recognized as Clyde-face first in a cushion he ripped from one of the couches. He eventually found his way to the stairs leading up to the bedrooms, thinking back to the many times Wendy would drag his ass up them in a hurry following her gal pals years prior.

Stan let out a light groan for the memories, too tired to think about them and surely to hung-over to care right now.

Every step sent a shot of ache through his legs until he found the top stair and crawled into a ball, looking through the bars connecting to the staircase looking over the foyer. A vase by the door laid in a pile of porcelain and dirt, a flower's colors contrasting with the sun light beaming through the marbled glass windows beside the door frame.

A random poetic thought Stan quickly cast away as a set of footsteps sounded behind one of the bedrooms. The click and creaking of door hinges brought Stan to roll over pathetically to face the person, hearing the familiar voice let out a deep yawn and stretching above him.

"Mornin', Marsh." Craig Tucker, his signature indigo chullo missing and revealing disheveled black hair and the hung-over remnants of the teen's usual blank sullen gaze.

Stan raised his un-bandaged hand to his eyes, the blurry vision of Craig making him a mess of watercolors of blue and black. "Tucker." He replied. "Tell me, are you as fucked up as I am right now?"

Craig rolled his eyes, crouching down above his collapsed classmate. "No one is as fucked up as you on this planet, Stan. You went where no one was dumb enough to go."

"Fuck off." Stan groaned, a yawn escaping and rubbing his eyes. "I feel like shit."

"Feel like shit." Craig echoed. "Stan, where are your pants?"

"I don't fucking know, and I don't care." Stan mumbled back, climbing up the banister to stand up and meet his classmate/friend at eye level. "Wait, where's…"

Craig shrugged. "Last night is a blur, at least near the end. All I remember is we started drinking, you didn't want to, Kyle said you could, you _did_ , and then fuck if I know what happened." He let out another yawn. "McCormick left first, fucking incredible feat that is. Took Kyle with him, oddly I thought you two fags were going to hook up-"

"Fuck off, Cr-ahggg…" Stan started and ended, his head pounding from his frustration taking hold.

Craig's lips formed the quickest of a grin before disappearing before walking away. Stan limped after him, covering his hand and praying Craig Tucker doesn't say shit about it.

"Here," Craig's voice said followed by the view of a pill bottle came hurling at Stan before he caught it. "Take as many as you want. I'm not your fucking nurse."

Stan eyed the bottle grimacing. "Craig, where did you get Vicodin?"

Craig pointed behind him. "Bebe's mom's bathroom. Don't ask don't tell." He made his way past Stan before stopping at the top of the stairs. "And by the way, moisturize that hand before it starts pealing."

Stan's heart stopped, a single pill falling from his fingers. "Wha-"

"And for fuck sakes don't scratch it, you'll fuck it up." Followed by what Stan must've misheard as Craig Tucker chuckling. He rushed to the top of the stairs and watched as the boy pulled his shoes on and made his way out the door, his blank stare mocking Marsh just between the crack before the door closed.

"Moisturize…" Stan repeated, gazing down at his shaking left hand. The red of the heart just peaking at the top of where gauze met knuckle.

And it was then Stan sucked in a breath, remembering a snippet of the night before and having the fifth realization.

"Ky..."

* * *

The house had lain quiet before the heater kicked on, flooding every room with warmth through the vents. Kyle Broflovski sat at the side of his bed, clutching his knees between his palms and fingers. His finger dug their nails into his kneecaps but he didn't noticed, a much greater pain ceasing from his thigh.

The itching the burning, the fucking agony. He took deep breaths, just like Kenny taught him. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out.

Fuck. Kyle bit his lip at the thought, this gesture proving to help nothing but to trigger the face of whom his lips would actually concern. With a brave breath, he unclenched his hand from his knee and moved to left up the boxer leg of his right thigh.

His pale fragile skin was a stinging red, and traced around an ink imprint of a heart on top of his thigh, forever labeling him of who he was and how he truly felt.

Kyle smiled. "Firsts always hurt."

* * *

On going new story, more chapters to come! -ABGE


	2. Chapter 2 Kenny Springer

Kenny McCormick stretched and yawned, having slept soundly through the night and managing a healthy morning hangover-less. His dirty blonde hair wet from his one a week shower, glued to his forehead by the hood of his old orange parka and his lips chapped from the cold air outside the Broflovski residence.

Scratching the front of his jeans, he marveled at his friend's home. The Jew had some nice digs, nice lawn, and had his parents been home the family car would sit in the driveway. Meanwhile, Kenny's out front and freezing his itchy balls off.

He reached out with gloved hand and knocked hard on the door, craning his neck and looking up at the up stairs windows. What's taking Kyle so long? Kenny sighed, blowing out a cloud of warm breath freezing in the cold.

He walked around the side of the house and hoped over the side fence until he was just below what he believed to be Kyle's bedroom window. Kenny wished it never had to come to this, given how easily it's become in recent years to just skip to this step. However he liked the idea of being invited inside, entering a home through the front door and not as a fucking burglar or rapist.

"But I digress." He said aloud, walking over to the bushes and pulling out a makeshift ladder. He then propped it up against the house and proceeded to climb, grunting all the while with every step. "Couldn't just leave a key under the mate, could ya? Couldn't give old Ken a break, could ya?"

Reaching the window, he dipped his hand in his pocket and pulled out and old Shakeys gift card and slid it between where the window met the frame. After a few attempts, he managed to pop the lock of the latch and slide the window open enough to crawl through.

"Jesus Christ!" The shrill and startled voice of Kyle Broflovski sounded as Kenny tumbled forward into the room. He laid in bed wearing only boxers and an old Terrence and Philip t-shirt, his Jew fro looking ferocious and unkempt, and several textbooks and comics laid on his nightstand.

"Morning, buddy!" Kenny greeted, standing up and moving to Kyle's bedside.

"Has anyone ever taught you to knock?" Kyle glared.

"Anyone ever taught you the concept of placing a key under the welcome mat?" Kenny replied with a smirk. "Besides, a little exercise never hurts. So, how's the leg?"

Kyle rolled his eyes and reached over to pull up his boxers a bit, revealing the tattoo. Kyle hissed as Kenny's ice-cold fingers traced the outer space of the artwork, admiring it.

"Not a bad job," He told the Jew, "if I do say so myself. Best work I've done yet!"

"So far as I know, it's the only work you've done," Kyle muttered, sighing as Kenny stared grinning. "I still can't believe we went through with it."

"I can," Kenny said. "When you were first talking about it with me, I was a little taken back to be honest. But when you told me why, it came together perfectly."

Kyle frowned. "If you say so."

Kenny's grin fell. "You aren't still thinking about last night, are you?"

"I just," Kyle shook his head and turned to the window, "I mean I don't blame him, did you see how angry he was when we left? How much he was drinking?"

Kenny sighed, standing up to sit on Kyle's bed. "Stan's going to be alright, I've drank with him before. Yeah he was a little fucked up and yeah, we didn't totally leave on the greatest of terms," He waved his hand, "and maybe, and this is big, but maybe he forgot. Dude's memory is shit after a night of bitching and binging."

Kyle covered his face with his hands, groaning.

"It's going to be fine, man. Stop overthinking shit." Kenny grabbed Kyle's knee and shook it. "It's only Sunday, Stan's probably so hung-over he'll be in bed until school starts. Use today to think about what you want to say to him and then do it."

Kyle dropped his hands. "Kenny, look at this realistically!"

"You two got hammered, basically acted like lovers at the party then both demanded separately for me to tattoo hearts on you both to, and I quote, _signify our desire to plough one another superbly_." Kenny deadpanned. "Besides, how fucking _realistic_ is anything in this town? How did no one die or at least get their stomach pumped? So stop freaking out about this and relax."

Kyle sat and sighed, leaning back against the head before turning to his phone charging on his nightstand. He reached over and checked for messages, before frowning.

"Ugh, alright," Kenny stood up and stretched, "want me to go check on him? Will that calm your _nervies_?"

Kyle held out a hand. "Please, I mean if it isn't too much."

Kenny rolled his eyes and grabbed Kyle's hand, pushing the fingers back and morphing it into a thumb's up. "It's not and don't mention it, dude. Just keep from scratching the tat and let me worry about your man."

As Kenny made his way out the window, he turned back with an accusing pointed index finger. "I expect a copy of your house key the next time I see you, Broflovski."

And with that he was gone.

* * *

"Knock, knock sleepy head!"

Stan Marsh was not a morning person.

"Hell-o~!"

Stan Marsh was not a hangover person.

"Hey! I can see you blink, asshole!"

Stan Marsh is quickly becoming a 'not a Kenny McCormick' person

From beneath the covers and between the sheets is where Stan Marsh eventually found himself after two Vicodin and hitching a ride with Clyde after he had woken up, bringing him back home luckily after his parents had gone out. Where, he did not care and remained dead in bed since around nine.

Rolling over in bed to face outside his window, said McCormick knocked on the glass as snowflakes started to fall. Stan covered his eyes and shut his eyes tight with every time Kenny's finger less gloved knuckles racked against the windowpane, eventually proving too much for the teen as he kicked away the blanket.

He unlatched the window and pushed it open, nearly pushing Kenny backwards off the ladder if he hadn't held on to the window's frame. "You better be bringing me a Gatorade and a good explanation with all the fucking noise you're making."

Kenny shook the snow off him and dropped his hood. "I bare something much greater than that, my friend. It is my very presence."

Stan deadpanned, before flipping the blonde off and getting back in bed. "Aw, Stanley! Don't be like that!" Kenny whined, grinning at the pained look on Stan's face. "Oh, I'm sorry. Too loud?"

"Everything is too loud, Kenny." Stan groaned, pulling the sheets over his head. "My fucking thoughts are too loud."

"Mmm." Kenny quipped, before sitting on the foot of the bed. "Speaking of thinking, let's talk last night for a minute."

"Ugh…" Stan groaned, still hidden beneath the covers. "Go home, Ken."

"Now, last night I decided not to drink and want to know why, Stan?"  
Kenny asked, poking one of Stan's feet beneath the blanket. "You want to, don't you?"

"Oh my god, Kenny!" Stan whined, pulling the blanket off and messing his bed hair up further. "Why, why, fucking why?"

Kenny smirked. Without warning, he reached out and grabbed hold of Stan's bandaged hand and ripped away the gauze. As the bandaging fell away revealing the tattoo, Stan stared at his friend in horror.

"Cuz booze fuck's with my drawing hand, Stan." Kenny grinned, waving the limp wrist in his grasp back and forth.

"Y-You…" Stan stared. "You did this!"

"Duh," Kenny replied, furrowing his brow, "who the fuck else at the party do you know with access to this type of shit?"

Stan couldn't think straight. "What-"

"Now before you get mad, let me tell you why I'm here." Kenny stood up and moved to Stan's bedroom door before closing and locking it. He turned back and crouched at the bedside. "So last night, these two drunk friends of mine-one of them a Jew and the other a jock, you don't know them-had been acting really playful with each other."

"Some would call how they were acting _flirty_ but I what I saw was the power of liquid courage!" Kenny smiled. "Now, and follow me here, so these two friends of mine asked me, Kenneth McCormick, to mark them in a way binding them together in a way two guys could without all the paper work and stuff."

Stan raised a hand to his mouth, staring at the blonde in disbelief. "F-Flirty?"

Kenny nodded, arms crossed and grinning.

Stan twiddled his thumbs. "H-How flirty?"

Kenny shrugged. "I mean…it's what I'd call holding each other, rubbing one another and you did grab his ass for like hours."

"Ugh!" Stan groaned and rolled over in bed, pulling a pillow over his head and beginning for the sweet release of the death to cradle him close before dropping into his grave for a headache-less sleep.

Kenny sat back on the bed and laid his hand down on Stan's side, shushing his friend and shaking his head. "There, there. It's not all bad."

"Not all bad? You said it yourself!" Stan's muffled frustrations fueling the pain and embarrassment growing on his face, "I might as well of fucked Kyle in front the whole party!"

Kenny twiddled his thumbs. "I mean…that would have been cool."

Stan remained that way for a few minutes, Kenny stayed there with his hand rubbing his side and being there for him. After awhile Kenny came to the conclusion that Stan passed out and got bored, so he departed the Marsh household and went out for snacks and Gatorade.

It was twenty minutes later when Kenny entered the room once more that Stan removed the pillow and sat up, feeling more disorientated and shitty than before. Kenny tossed his friend a Gatorade and sat beside him with two sandwiches. After a few minutes in silence, Kenny spoke first.

"So not going to lie, I feel bad." Kenny quipped mid bite, turning to Stan. "I mean, it's not like I was drunk enough to agree. I could've told your gay asses no."

After three healthy gulps, Stan let out a shaky sigh. "Don't worry about it, Ken. It's…we'll get through this."

"How and what do you mean when you say that?" Kenny asked, chewing all the while. "Do you regret the tat? See it as just another big decision made in your drunken stupider?"

"Yeah! I mean, no? I don't fucking know, Ken." Stan shrugged. "I know that…I know I like Kyle…he has one too, right?"

Kenny simply nodded. Stan gulped audibly. "O-Oh, good."

"So you're going to tell him right?" Kenny asked, as if the answer was obvious and leaning in. "I mean…last night didn't exactly end well, after all."

Stan paused mid bite. "What are you talking about?"

Kenny tugged on his collar, chuckling nervously. "Well…Stan Marsh is a jealous one, so…"

"What," Stan stared eyes narrowing, "happened, Kenny?"

"After I was done with Kyle, Craig started getting...involved." Kenny begun slowly, holding a hand out incase of an outburst.

"And a drunk Kyle plus a mildly sober Craig Tucker prodding, who is in reach of an easily drunker and protective Stan Marsh, can equal some questionable reactions! Like 'Hey Ken, what's wrong with Kyle, why is he crying' and 'Hey, Craig! What are you doing here?'"

Stan bent forward and clutched his temples, his mind racking in overload. "…And then you started to vomit and Craig took you away and Kyle saw and ask me to take him home. So it's kind of this whole thing and…"

"What did he say." Stan mumbled. Kenny stared, leaning down to hear his friend before snapping back up at Stan's bloodshot eyes. "What did Craig say to him?"

Kenny furrowed his brow. " _Craig_ may have hinted at something that may or may not have happened between you two." He held up two fingers, "two weeks ago."

That was it. Stan kicked out the blankets on his lap and ran to the bedroom, ripping it open and rushing to the bathroom down the hall. Falling to his knees before the toilet, his stomach purged the overcoming sick tying his guts in knots just as Kenny rushed in to sit beside him.

A fingerless gloved hand found Stan's shoulder as stomach acid and tears poured into the bowl, Kenny shaking his head and shushing his fallen friend's broken speech and sobs.

"I-ugh, I'm fucking done, Ken!" Stan groaned, gripping at his knees. "I've been conscious four hours today and I've only just realized I may have lost Kyle."

Kenny rolled his eyes; thinking back to the jock crazy mess the boy in question was when he departed this morning. "Please. You're both retarded for each other, and Craig's a fucking dick. "

Stan had stopped retching and only rest his face on the seat as he listened. "So you and Tucker may have fooled around a bit, and aren't one hundred percent sure you want to ask your best friend out yet. But I can tell with absolute certainty that no matter what I doubt Kyle would ever just walk away from you." Kenny smiled. "In fact, before I came here I was at his house."

Stan shifted his position so he looked up at Kenny. "Yeah. And he was all busted up over the fact that's almost noon and you haven't texted or called him…"

Stan sighed, turning back down into the bowl and groaning. "Get me my phone, please."

The blonde smiled, giving his friend a few pats on the back before rising to his feet and venturing back to the bedroom where he noticed Stan's phone flashing. Kenny grabbed the phone and eyed the missed contact, half lidded eyes falling to the name.

"Tucker."

* * *

New chapter, please review and favorite or follow! -ABGE


	3. Chapter 3 Reeling and Stumbling

The sound of a school bell on a Monday morning turned the hallways into a traffic disaster. Clusters of student hugging the locker walls and each other just to make it to their destination while others simply sought out an escape from the claustrophobic convention of South Park High School.

The first two periods were fine, save for most of the students that had forgotten the projects both teachers had assigned over break; practically begging for their classes to forget about them to give them a failing grade. The same majority of both classes only chuckled and groaned in hushed tones at the lectures they received that morning, in the end mutually agreeing to _take the L_.

Kenny McCormick, Stan Marsh, one Craig Tucker and a several others spaced out, slept, or just flat out ignored the looks other faceless students gave them upon the lecture; Those uninvited could only shame those who were, and join in on the beat down were then greeted with a resounding whatever before both classes ended.

Once the doorway had cleared and others had gone (save for a sleeping Craig in his seat by the windows), Kenny woke up his coal haired friend. Stan had his blue red lined knit hat pulled down over his eyes and was using his school letterman as a pillow. Smirking at this, Kenny bent down besides the jock's sleeping form and blew gently in his ear.

"Ughhh…" Stan groaned, shoving an arm out towards Kenny. "Fucking dick."

"Class is over, Dear," Kenny chuckled, prodding the slumbering Stan's shoulder, "Now hurry or we'll be late for the ball."

"Here," Kenny turned to see Craig walking over, his grin instantly falling. The bored teen stood at his height, his annoying pixie cut hair covered by his old beat up indigo hoodie. As he walked his house keys jingled and bounced against his slim fit black jeans.

As he neared, Kenny could smell the smoke on his clothes, knowing that he buys them off of Christophe; the only other person Kenny knows outside his group to associate with Craig.

Craig leaned down by Stan's other ear, eyeing Kenny. "If you really want to wake up sleeping beauty here, you've got to give him a _kiss_."

Stan's stomach fell, quickly sitting up and glaring at the other hooded boy. Craig just stared, scratching his nose. "Too soon, Marsh?"

"Okay boys, shows over," the professor waved at the three, "Unless you want to discuss how you'll make up this project or beg at least beg for it, off to lunch with you."

Craig turned to the professor, middle finger extended as he walked passed him and out the door. Kenny shook his head and shoved his hand into his parka's pockets. "What a chode."

"You're telling me," Stan stood putting his letterman back on, "god help me today, man. If you're right and he did tell Kyle about our thing, who knows what he's trying to do."

Both boys left the classroom and walked into the hallway, surprised at how quickly the rest of the students already made their way to the cafeteria. Kenny shrugged. "He's not going to do shit, man. He's too…I don't know, weird."

Stan sighed. "You don't get it, Ken. There's more to him than that." He looked up and around them to check for other students before looking back at Kenny in a whisper. "He's actually kind of like, considerate and shit. Like after the whole Wendy thing he was the first person to like console me and…"

Kenny listened, the fingers in his pockets clenching at the distant look in his friends eyes as the stood in the hallway. He huffed, craning his neck. "So you're telling me Craig might actually give a shit about people, of all of them _you_? Why you?"

Stan shrugged again. "I don't fucking know! It's like we would talk, you know? And he would like calm me down when I was pissed off or when I would try to drink, instead of shaming me we would down a bottle together and then…" He trailed off, feeling a heat rise to his cheeks before shaking his head.

"Hey man, listen," Kenny sighed, glancing away from Stan, "what this sounds like to me is that Craig trying to get under your skin and fuck you for his own little game. And the fact that you've been in a fragile state as of late it was easy picking for him."

"But why?" Stan threw up his arms, "He's not Cartman! Speaking of which, where is the bastard?"

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Believe me or not, he was sent to a boot camp."

"Boot camp." Stan echoed.

Kenny nodded, before reaching into his pocket. "Got five bucks on them kicking him out before he converts them to his religion or whatever."

Stan glanced down the hall, his brow perking up at seeing the before mentioned Tucker boy up against his locker staring at his phone. Kenny followed his line of sight before groaning. "For fuck's sake, it's the boat rocker." He turned to Stan, clearly seeing the conflicting emotions battling behind his eyes. "Stan, listen to me. Whatever happens, I need you to think about Kyle."

Stan turned to him, worried. "I-I know, it's just-"

"Stan," Kenny grabbed Stan's wrist and turned so the back of his left hand was visible, the gauze peaking beneath the cuff, "remember who you belong to, think about how angry you were when Craig was talking to him."

Kenny leaned in close, "Think about how Kyle's not here because he didn't want to see that asshole."

Stan's expression went from panicked to a glare, facing away from Kenny and narrowing his eyes at the now approaching Craig. Kenny gave him a pat on the shoulder before turning down the opposite direction, leaving Stan to face it alone.

"Marsh," The monotone voice of Craig Tucker greeted, turning to call after the teen in the orange parka down the hall, "McCormick!"

Kenny only waved his hand back to flip Craig the bird, a cigarette box in his clutches.

Craig tilted his head, staring at the dirty blonde. "What's up with him?"

Stan thrust a thumb in Kenny's direction. "In his defense, he's not the only member of the _Fuck off Craig Tucker Club_."

"I don't care," Craig sighed. "I just need to talk to you about…stuff." He thought for a moment only for Stan to groan.

"Quit beating around the bush, Craig," Stan crossed his arms. "We're the only ones here now."

"Well great," Craig said middle finger extended while the other hand held a strap of his backpack, "and I'm not beating around the bush! It's just fucking weird now, with all things considered."

Stan stood there, glaring at the shining floor of the hallway as the boy before him spoke. "I mean, what was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to say?"

"What do you want, Craig?" Stan said, making a face, "From me I mean?"

Craig scratched his nose, before tilting his head. "What do you mean?"

"Don't be all fucking coy now," Stan took a step towards him before noticing Craig doing the same.

"Are you serious?" Craig almost chuckled, "Dude, you're the one who threw a drunken temper tantrum when Kyle left at the party," he stared off for a second before adding, "and then proceeded to purge your frustrations into a toilet while I once again picked up your pieces."

Glaring at Craig, Stan bit his tongue as the hooded teen continued. "After the door of opportunity presented itself and Kyle seemed to be committing his skin to you, I figured he deserved the right to know."

"I swear to god," Stan growled, "if you're even thinking about hurting him-"

"What will you do?" Craig asked, approaching the now boiling over teen. "Come on, tell me. Are you going to beat me up, swear to kill me through your tough-quarter-back-guy act…" Craig stood a foot away from him now, their reflections in each other's eyes. "…Or is this foreplay?"

' _Think about Kyle,'_ Kenny voice echoed in Stan's head before he took tow deep breathes, and unclenched his fist at his sides. "No."

"No." Craig echoed, looking down.

"I don't want this," Stan sighed, staring at the ground. "I…I like Kyle, Craig. And I just want to make this transition as easy as possible, because I feel like I'm always one step from fucking everything up with these kinds of things."

Craig only stared at the taller boy's chest, before lightly jabbing at it. "Lighten up, Marsh."

Stan furrowed his brow before Craig continued, "I know you like Kyle, I knew before the party and I know now. I'm not here to be a wedge in some shitty daytime T.V. teen drama," he looked back up at Stan, who saw a change of looking in his eyes, "I just…I don't know. I guess I actually care or something."

He then turned to walk away, glancing back to see if Stan would follow. Stan sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets before walking after Craig. "First off, I guess I want to apologize for the party-" He quickly turned to Stan, "Yeah, yeah it was fucked up how and when. Whatever."

He rolled his eyes, "I tried to call yesterday, but I guess you were busy."

"But why did you have to do it," Stan asked, not turning to look at the other boy as they walked.

Craig hesitated, biting his lip, "…I guess I may have gotten a little jealous."

When he heard Stan say nothing, he sighed. "I know, fucking dumb right? I mean, at first I didn't mind. I was just like a second rate therapist for you…who also fucked you."

The last line caused an awkward silence between the two before Stan scratched his neck and spoke, smirking. "Jealous…Craig Tucker-jealous?"

"Of Stan Marsh and his new found desire to bang a certain Jew, yes." Craig groaned hearing the chuckle in Stan's voice, "It's fucking hilarious. Die in a fire."

The two stopped at the double doors of the lunchroom, turning to lean against a wall besides one another. Craig pulled out his phone and spoke without looking at Stan, "So are we officially done?"

Stan stared, "What do you mean?"

"Well obviously, we can't do the things we do anymore if you're going to be attempting to plow Broflovski exclusively." Craig said as a matter of fact.

It was then Stan opened his mouth to speak, but found his word bank dry and his mind in static. He turned away, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at his shoes. "Well…I guess so."

Craig deadpanned. "You guess?"

Stan furrowed his brow. "I-you- what do you mean?"

Craig shook his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Stan, what the fuck is this? Are you telling me hoping from Wendy to me to Kyle has you unsure or something?"

"No! No, I do want to date Kyle!" Stan snapped, stomping his foot.

Craig smirked. "Then what's the problem, Marsh?"

The two boys just stared at each other, one not going to miss any sudden twitch in the other's expression while said boy's brain cranked to find an explanation. "Was it the sex?"

Stan's eyes widened. "W-What-"

"It was the sex," Craig smirked, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes, "figured. I really found your buttons easiest to push when you were on your back-"

"Stan!"

Both boys jumped away from the wall and stared down the hall to find a fast approaching Wendy Testaburger, Bebe Stevens chasing after her with Clyde Donavon in towed.

She approached the jock and wrapped her fingers around his wrist; her obnoxiously pink finger nails contrasting against the school teams colors on Stan's jacket. Matching her violet jumper, and her purple beret to keep the color theme.

"There you are, come with me right now!" Wendy pulled at the boy, who lurched forward as his ex burst through the lunch doors and tugged at the now confused teen in her grasp.

Bebe turned to Craig for a second to mouth an apology before rushing after the two into the cafeteria. Craig flipped her off as the doors closed before turning his attention to his best friend, panting besides him.

"What the fuck was that?" Craig deadpanned.

Clyde panted for a few seconds, holding his hand up before speaking. "Dude, you were at the party right?"

Craig sighed, falling back against the wall. "Unfortunately."

"Well it turns out Stan has his eyes set on his buddy Kyle and Wendy just found out this morning!" Clyde panted, the excitement practically sucking the air out of his lungs. "Apparently, she's going to try to get back with him. She's so pissed, dude!"

Craig pursed his lips, nodding before turning to peer through the double doors' windows to see the two in question sitting at a table shared with half the football team and a few cheerleaders he didn't recognize.

He let out a sigh. "So much for no shitty teen drama."

* * *

Late update, will try to minimize that. -ABGE


	4. Chapter 4 Maybe We'll Catch Fire

Stupid. Stupid. Dumbass.

Craig held his hand over his face, dragging it down to let it fall limp by his side as he peered through the window of the cafeteria. It was silent after the doors had shut and Clyde had abandoned him to witness the South Park equivalent of the Maury Povich show unfold before most of the student body. He bet Stan probably wished he were dead than be in there, getting grilled by his peers.

Craig, too, kind of wished he were.

He reached for the door, his hand flat against its surface without applying pressure. He mentally begged the question; would it be more or less awkward and out of character for him to march in and taking on that testosterone and hormone overload of a table to lend Stan a hand?

Craig pulled away from the door and turned to face the opposite direction. Yeah, he could try and prove to Marsh that he just gave a shit about him. That was it, but even if he did. Even if he marched in emotionless and stood before those Neanderthals-what would he even say?

' _Hey, leave that guy alone. He's mine'_? What the fuck would that do other than just fuel the fire and get him drag along into it?

Just as he thought of another possible out come, a loud thud echoed and muffled from the double doors. Craig quickly spun around to look and almost reeled back at the scene around the table in question.

In all of their collected shock, the grilling of Stan Marsh had been interrupted in a grand fashion. Wendy glared silent beside Bebe; Token and Clyde reeled back just as he had though Clyde held a hand over his mouth, possibly biting his nails at the situation. The other kids just started backing away.

Craig turned his attention to which they were backing away from; only to snap his eyes open at one boy standing behind Stan. In all his glory stood Kenny McCormick, visibly irritating Wendy and Bebe.

"At least it'll be over now." Craig stared, pulling out his phone and immediately pulling up his messages to Token.

* * *

"…Well?"

Stan didn't respond, only sitting quietly as his friends and peers stood and sat around him in this unintentionally homophobic interrogation. Wendy crossed her arms, burrowing holes into Stan's forehead with the intensity her eyes pierced at him. Token sat besides the teen in question, behind him sat Clyde, and a few others done up in letterman's just as Stan was.

"Aren't you going to explain yourself?" Wendy asked again, her dainty balled fists finding her hips.

Stan only lazily turned his head to her, expressionless. "Why would I have to?" He turned back to the others. "Didn't she break up with me in favor of one of you?"

He pointed an accusing finger at one boy, his anger now beginning to flow free. "Was it you Johnny? Kent? The fuck is this?"

"Hey, man! It's not like that!" Token laid a hand on Stan's shoulder, which was violently shaken off. "We were just eating when she came in and dropped all this on us!"

"I was just with Bebe when this shit it the pan." Clyde clarified.

"It's fan, Clyde." Token turned to his friend, raising an eyebrow. "Where the hell did you hear pan?"

"That's not important!" Wendy snapped, getting everyone's attention including a few turning faces at surrounding tables. "Stan, I won't-I refuse, to lose to some scrawny kid with a permanent peppermint complexion!"

Stan turned to her so quickly, on lookers would've sworn he just struck her by how far back she flinched. "Don't fucking talk about him like that, Wendy. I'm warning you right now."

From behind them, the group heard fast footsteps approaching and collectively turned. Groaning as the saw Kenny, the boy skid to a stop before the table.

"Sorry to be tarty to the party." Kenny grinned, holding his arms out to the group. "I would've been here soon but I had to run out to get-"

It was only then he noticed every standing around Stan, the quarterback himself sat on one knee turned to Wendy with clenched fists and red cheeks.

"…Okay," Kenny crossed his arms, "what'd I miss now?"

"Ken!" Stan stood up, grabbing his bag from beneath the table. "Funny, I was just leav-"

"Oh no you don't!" Wendy tugged Stan back down to a seated position, earning a hard glare from her ex. "Stan's busy, Kenny. Leave us be."

Kenny clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "See I would, but I don't remember you being the boss of me, Sweetie."

Wendy narrowed her eyes at the grinning blonde, Bebe following in suit. "Excuse me?" They said in unison.

Stan stood up once more, flinching away from his group as he walked away alone from the table. Wendy stood up and half-heartedly reached out only from the cafeteria doors to be ripped open and Stan to disappear behind.

Kenny however did notice the quickest flash of Craig standing behind the entrance, before being pulled quickly around the corner. He let out a long sigh before turning back to the silent table's patrons, eyeing the few trays on its surface.

"You...you guys going to eat that?"

* * *

"Hey! The fuck is your problem, Marsh?" Craig attempted to tug away from the stronger boy's grip on his sleeve. He was mid text to Token when he notice Stan marching from the table in his direction, when he walked out and took him along on his retreat from their friends.

After some time, Craig found themselves out of the school and in the parking lot. The cold air hit Craig at the bang of Stan's forearm shoving open the release of the exit. In the distance, Stan's red Ford truck sat between some teacher's pinto and Token's mustang. The snow resting in piles atop them all, shaking off slightly when they stopped and Stan rested against the driver side door.

Craig ripped himself from Stan and punched him in the arm. "What the hell was that about, dick? If you wanted to go pout in your fucking car fine, but don't just think that we might be cool you can-"

"Craig," Stan growled staring at the wet asphalt, "shut the fuck up for a minute."

Craig's eyes grew for a second, before narrowing and he crossed his arms; he obeyed, but only because this gave him an excuse to smoke with anyone noticing.

He leaned against the truck besides Stan reached into his pocket to dig out one of the few cigarettes he had got from that morning and a lighter, placing it between his dry lips and lighting it. Out of the corner of his eye, Stan watched all of this; Craig's narrowed stare, his eyebrows wrinkling downward in a glare and his ocean blue eyes piercing the surface of whatever they laid.

The paper burned, crumbling into ash at the tip as wisps danced out from the corners of Craig's mouth before he took the cigarette between his fingers and breathed out. They sat in silence; Stan brooding with arms wrapped tightly crossed his chest and eyes closed tight in a silent rage, whilst Craig smoked and stared at his phone waiting to hear from either Token or Clyde assuming they saw him leave with Stan.

He didn't plan for either of them to know about what happened between him and the pissed off jock beside him, but Clyde managed to get it out of him one stupid night and he blabbed to Token. After many vulgar threats and several lengthy lecturing texts, both agreed to keep quiet about it. Even so Craig still dreaded the day Wendy, brandishing a soldering iron, will come after him.

Or worse, maybe Kyle would ask him about it. The second that the thought touched ground, Craig became nauseous.

The boy beside him sighed out of the corner of his eye. He turned and watched Stan fiddle with a key ring before taking one between his thumb and index finger and sticking it in his car door. He pulled it open and got inside and sat there for a moment, before turning back to Craig.

Craig stared back, stone walling while taking another drag.

The staring contest went on until Stan reached over and pressed the unlocking mechanism on the door and Craig heard the release on the passenger side. Rolling his eyes, Craig broke eye contact to walk around to the other side of the car to get inside.

Flicking the filter remains over Token's car, he climbed in and shut the door before looking at Stan. "You're still an ass."

Stan chuckled darkly. "I'm also apparently a lousing boyfriend."

"Ex," Craig corrected pulling one leg up to cross the other, "boyfriend."

Stan sighed. "You know, I never asked to be born how I am."

"No one does," Craig said almost immediately.

"Than why am I the asshole?" Stan asked, arms resting at the top of the steering wheel and his forehead pressed against them.

Craig brought a hand to his face staring out at the grey sky through his fingers, the faint smell of his cigarette still on them. "You're not, Stan." He said, monotone. "Well, at least not in this situation. Every other moment of your life you're an piece of shit, but that's only because I'll always see you as an piece of shit."

"Gee, thanks." He heard him say, before sighing for probably the hundredth time that day. Stan turned back and started digging through his back seat, only to reemerge with a 2/3s of a bottle of a dark liquid. Craig saw this and immediately reached over to place his hand over Stan's attempting to open the bottle. They locked eyes; remaining in that position, which Craig knew was awkward, and compromising if someone where to see.

Stan's eyes seemed to plead with Craig, as if they grew lips to pout. Only this was not the first time the boys had been in this car, with this apparent prop to their times together. Craig's name tried to find its way from Stan's lips, but all he could do was look down in shame as the bottle left his own grasp and fell in the other's lap

Craig twisted the top and took a swig, grimacing at the sudden burn. He didn't drink much usually; ironically Craig was the social drinker. Ironic-because Craig didn't find himself all too social and because he usually drank so he didn't have to socialize.

"You're a piece of shit too, Tucker." Stan said suddenly, getting said Tucker's attention. "You can't say you don't have a horse in this race."

Craig grimaced. "What race?"

Stan sat in silence for a moment, only to respond with a shrug. Craig snorted, handing him back the bottle, which he took eagerly and drank. "In case you've forgotten, Marsh," Craig quipped, "I've seen your finishing line. It's about as graceful as a foal learning to walk with the winner hardly breaking a sweat to reach it."

Stan choked on the liquid, coughing it out of his lungs as Craig fought the overcoming urge to laugh into his hand. Regaining his composer, he reached over and patted the jock on the back. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think you're too lousy."

Stan took a few breaths from his coughing fit before turning to Craig. " _Too_ lousy?"

"Well like I said," Craig explained, "you definitely suck. I'll always think you're shitty and you suck, but you aren't necessarily useless. Just…don't listen to Wendy's bullshit. She's always been some bitchy skank anyway."

This was followed by silence. For a moment, Craig toyed with the idea of him feeling bad for saying that about Stan's ex. Toyed with it, before tossing the though aside and waiting for a response. What he didn't realize was that his hand remained on Stan's back, resting between the shoulder blades with his finger going in small circles absentmindedly.

He then felt an arm find its way around his shoulder, before the center console was flipped back to form a third seat as he was pulled closer to Stan.

He froze, his arm now on Stan's opposite side and feeling the warmth of the jock's body against his cheek. He dared to gaze up at his face, only to see Stan gaze off into the distance. "I don't know what to do."

Craig raised a brow to this. "What do you mean?"

He held out his hand to stared at the bandaging. "I like Kyle, I'm pretty sure I do…I didn't want to break up with Wendy. I never wanted that, she just…gets tired of me, you know? And then takes me back like nothing ever happened when she wants more…but do you know what the most confusing this about this all is?"

Craig bit his lip, Stan's hazel eyes turning down to meet his gaze. He shook his head, pleading. "Stan…don't-"

"What confuses me the most is how you're here now." Stan whispered, his face coming so close to Craig's, smelling the smoke on his breath dancing with the drink they shared. "I don't understand why the animosity from you while helping me."

"Well…" Craig's brain was breaking beneath Stan, his character falling apart with every word. "Like I said this morning, maybe I just fucking care!"

Their noses touched, and Craig's breath cut off. Stan smirked.

"How much?"

The only answer that Craig could summon from his word bank was to lean his head back and pressing their lips together, his hands snaking up with cup Stan's rosy cheeks and tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Stan didn't hesitate to wrap his own arms around the smaller teen, a rouge hand reaching up to rip the hat off and toss it on to the dashboard before pushing him back against his seat.

The bottle of label-less alcohol fell between the seats and dripped in motion to the rocking of the truck,

They broke apart after a few minutes, lips wet and warm breaths. Craig somehow found him self in Stan's lap with his fingers through his hair, while Stan's stayed glued to Tucker's hips. They stared into each other's eyes in silence, hazel mixing with crystal blues; the surrounding windows fogged up and it feeling like forever since they departed the lunchroom.

Craig wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and then Stan's while earning a muffed grunt as he smirked. "You shouldn't play with your food."

Stan chuckled, before slowly leaning his head against Craig's who followed in suit. "I…Craig I-"

"Shut up," Craig whispered, one hand on the back of Stan's neck and another shaking slightly against his cheek. He shook his head against Stan's as he spoke, "just…let's have this. Just right now…please."

And Stan only nodded, his eyes never leaving Craig's.

* * *

Another star seemed to go out from the window into the snowing night sky of South Park. Pushing strands of his blond hair back he reached for his phone at the foot of the bed, daring to look at the bright screen only to frown at the lack of a response.

He was mad at him. He had every right to be mad, what Craig had done or at least tried to do at the party was unbelievably uncool and went against his own thinking. His hand clenched into a fist, threatening the headboard and sending a death glare as if it openly mocked him for his stupidity. His foolishness.

Fucking Stan.

Kenny sat up, shaking his head as he recalled seeing Stan reappear during their shared fifth period. The goofy look in his eyes, the red tint on his cheeks. He fucking went and did it again, and then lied about it.

What was he thinking? It's fucking depressing how crossed his lines are-from Wendy to Kyle and now him and Craig might have something to wrap this whole retarded situation up just in time for the holdidays.

He laid back down and drapped his forearms over his eyes, thinking back to the party and how happy his two friends were.

Stan's stupid drunken face had a sloppy smile plastered across it, one of his arms wrapped tight around his Klye and both of them laughing disgustingly at nothing. Kenny smiled, it was fucking beautiful to him. He thought about the many times he had tried to hook to two best friends up and how awkward they both were about to do it on their own.

He remembered how neither of them noticed Craig was there, who had arrived at the same time they had.

He should have seen it all along _._ No fucking shit that would happen, no matter how much he held on and how hard they tried to fill the space that airhead Testaburger left for the millionth time. This time it was Craig Tucker to pick up the pieces; he didn't know why he did.

He recalled Stan telling him about the Tucker situation his dumbass _'Marsh-ed'_ through in _Marsh_ fashion.

It was weeks ago and had been raining; it was after the Broncos had lost their first game in a long time. Apparently Craig had been there to hang out with Clyde and Token after the fact when he watched the quarter back crumble out on the wet grassy field. The pom-pom holding harpy marching up to him amongst his friends only to pull him away in a hurry, ignoring his questioning until they were beneath the bleachers. Thinking they were out of earshot only ignoring that Craig sat at the top hidden amongst the rest of the crowd's boos and shouts.

She had been seeing someone else, again. And wanted to break up, again. But something was off this time, Wendy didn't even sugar coat it, handing back his house key and walking away. Ditching the losing team's quarter back in the pile of empty soda cans and cigarettes.

He sat there and watched it happen. It was when as Craig was leaving with Token and Clyde that he watched as Stan stepped out into the rain alone, his friends out of sight and trudging out to his dad's truck to drive home.

Craig should've just left him, he cursed at the memory. The rain had gotten heavier and soaked his hat and coat, causing involuntary shivers as he thought about the jock taking his time in the storm.

"Fuck it," Craig had said, walking away from his friends and losing their calls after him in the rain. He approached Stan; arms crossed and stared before asking if he was all right.

And that's how it started


	5. Chapter 5 2nd Place

_Raindrops splashed down into the water, tiny ripples above Stan shook the surface. He treaded in the chill of the ocean, his vision was blurred and a shadowy vignette held him still. His lungs felt foreign, his skin was numb and he could only watch as two shadows dance before and around him._

 _Suddenly one gripped his left hand, and a burning sensation struck his chest. Meanwhile, the other shadow gripped his right hand and a cold numbing pain struck his head. The shadows had no faces, though both felt so familiar. And everything grew dark and the feelings left him._

" _Hey, bitch."_

 _Stan's eyes snapped open. By his bed crouched down with narrowed eyes was non other than Kenny McCormick, his usual laid back expression out and replaced with rage as a substitute._

 _Inches from his face were an accusing finger, which jabbed at his nose._

" _Ow!" Stan shouted, but then covered his mouth and turning to the digital clock on his bedside table. "It's three in the fucking morning!" He hissed to Kenny, who only glared back._

" _What did I say?" Kenny spoke, a faint growl in his voice as he leaned close to Stan's face. "What did I fucking say about Craig?"_

 _All the color drained from Stan's face as Kenny went on. "I told you to think about Kyle and after getting grilled about him by that bitch, you go and fuck him in the parking lot!"_

" _We didn't fuck-" Stan tried, but Kenny interrupted._

" _I don't care!" Kenny hissed back. "Honestly what the fuck is your problem? You fuck Craig, you like Kyle. You get a tattoo to show how much you like him, which again a bad move on my part, and then- you- go- and- fuck- Craig- Tucker!" Kenny jabbed Stan in the chest to add emphases to each word as the quarter back twitched in his bed._

" _Fuck off!" Stan nearly shouted, clutching Kenny's arm and pulling him close. The two went silent, listening to see if anyone heard the struggling while Kenny laughed at him._

" _Hey, Numb-nuts! No one can hear us, you're dreaming!" He laughed, before ripping himself out of Stan's grip. "And I'm not done grilling you yet!"_

 _Stan sat up. "Dreaming?" He shook his head and moved to swing at the parka-wearing boy, but found his fist was moving at a slow pace almost as if in slow motion._

" _Really man?" Kenny crossed his arms._

" _Whatever!" Stan pouted. "Fuck you, Ken. You have no idea what's going on. I didn't intentionally bring Craig to the parking lot to make out with him, it just happened, okay? We were talking about Wendy and he was helping me calm down and…"_

 _The two went silent again, only for Kenny to speak suddenly. "Did he kiss you?"_

 _Stan just looked down at his bed, watching as darkness crept up towards him and swallowing his room. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words graced his lips._

 _Kenny-Dream Kenny, sighed, leaning back down to lay a hand on Stan's shoulder as the darkness came over them. "Stan, be honest with me…do you like Craig?"_

* * *

"I…don't know."

Stan's rasp voice mumbled those words before even opening his eyes. Upon coming to the waking world and opening them, they were dry and his head was disoriented, his hands snaking up between the blankets and meeting his sleepless hazel gems to rub the sleep out of them.

The clock on his nightstand read _5:43_ in the morning while the window's glass showed the shattering sky of blues and grays. Snow having come and gone, the glass was fogged from the warmth of his bedroom. The floor was littered with random articles of clothing and textbooks, his gym bag he had tossed aside as soon as he arrived the day before laid crooked in the corner and leaned against the wall. By his bed were three or four empty bottles of beer he had kept hidden beneath his bed for safekeeping.

He wasn't hung-over, but he sure as hell felt like it. The dream he felt he narrowly escaped from was still clear in his mind. The way his dream friend criticized him just he knew he would in the real world.

He didn't go back to sleep, a part of him wished he had; it would've been too easy, to forget and let himself off the hook like that. He had made his bed and he couldn't bring himself to sleep in it.

The thought led him to kick his legs out; his comforter flew forward and off the foot of his bed. He clutched his temples as a groan escaped from his chapped lips. His eyes were fixed on the window, thinking to Kenny crawling through it days before. He thought of the rage the poorer teen would conger for him, the trust between them in their little group straining with every moment spent around Craig.

They all held contempt for Craig Tucker, and Stan couldn't even are mad.

He had gotten out of bed and was brushing his teeth, why he was choosing to be awake hours before he even needed to be leaving he didn't know yet. Stan was in complete autopilot, walking through everything that had been happening recently and highlighting the errors. He knew he shouldn't have given in to Craig, not just at the school but all the way back to the first time.

Stan just couldn't fight him off; he couldn't see what it was about him. It was when Craig continued to come back is where things really grew complicated. Where he found himself more drawn to him than his best friend, and it made him sick with pity and guilt.

He was pulling his jeans on when he turned back to see his phone, plugged into the wall by his bed. With an uneasy hand he took it, checking for any infamous drunk texts.

He sighed deeply and rolled his neck. There were many, all of them were sent to Kyle.

 _S-Kyyyyyyyyy_

 _K-Stan! Are you drunk?_

 _S-I'm sorry, I don't mean to just ezr to be honest_

Stan face palmed, reading on as his drunk past self puked his heart out on to the digital keyboard.

 _K-Okay? What's up, sorry I wasn't at school today_

 _S-nonono it's fine…I missed you_

 _K-I missed you too…I'm gonna be there tomorrow_

 _S-REalLy?_

 _K-Lol, yes. Why is you drunk, its like 11:30?_

 _S-I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry_

 _Oh no…_ Stan thought, dropping down onto his bed with one pant leg on and the other hanging to the floor. His heart sank as he quickly realized that's where the messages ended, he having to have past out after sending the last message.

He groaned, leaning forward and clutching the phone to his head. Stan wondered why part of him was in a never-ending fight to fuck him over.

His phone chimed and vibrated against his forehead. His thumbs moved to quickly open and read the sudden message.

 _K-Morning, ass. I want to see you before school. I'm honestly not expecting you to read this until you're very late and possibly throwing up in your dresser looking for socks. Idk what the fuck happened yesterday but I'm getting texts from Wendy and assume her pose? I'm sure whatever you're "sorry" about you can tell me then._

The heavy silence was shattered by a textbook, hitting the wooden dresser across the room and falling to the ground opening to a random page on the human brain. The metal worn gold colored handles swung against the wood in light taps, clunks and grinding fading out until they stopped completely.

The tired hand fell limply forward, attached to a now wayward arm hitting the sheets drained. Black strands hugged his forehead just above shimmering eyes that threatened to release the water works. Caramel colored whirlpools shook like tiny vapors by thoughts and fears that plagued the jock, wishing to change the channel of his mind.

* * *

Kyle reached into his pocket took his phone, unlocking and immediately going over the same text messages over and over again. From multiple people.

Wendy, in his phone as " _The Hurdle_ ", sent him several paragraphs explaining her distaste and lost of trust in him. Saying in many long words, which impressed Kyle, how much of a living piece of garbage he was for effectively ' _stealing her man'_ and to enjoy it while it lasted before Stan finds a new hole.

 _Christ_ , Kyle rubbed the back of his neck and bit back shame as he read the few texts he received under unknown numbers, all of which he knew must have been from the football team and cheerleaders.

 _Fag_ , _faggot_ , _man stealer_ ; over and over in so many ways. _Team killer_ brought him out of the pit for a moment at the thought of someone thinking him possibly dating Stan could potentially ruin the football team.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a familiar red truck driving up his street. Impressed, Kyle shoved his phone in his pocket and stood up from his porch as it parked in front of his house.

Stan was already half way out of the car when Kyle approached him. "Hey." Stan smiled, only to flinch when Kyle jabbed him in the side. "Ow! I guess I deserve that."

"What you deserve is a full on ass kicking, Stan!" Kyle growled, glaring up at the taller boy. "What did you do?"

"Me? I didn't do anything!" Stan said, defensively. "I was minding my own business when suddenly I'm ambushed-"

"Whatever." Kyle huffed, turning to walk around to the side of the car.

Stan pouted. "Come on, Ky. Don't be like that!"

Kyle tugged on the passenger side, growling at his failing to open the door. "How the fuck am I suppose to be like? I got all your buddies calling me a man-stealing fag!"

Stan shoved the passenger seat open, almost knocking Kyle to the ground, and glared. "What."

Kyle pouted; glaring down as he hopped into the seat and shut the door behind him. Crossing his arms he peered out the window. "Your friends have been texting me all morning." He turned to Stan, "If this is what you're sorry about, I want to know how the fuck that happened."

For the next few moments Kyle watched as Stan sat in silence, watching his grip on the steering wheel tighten until his knuckles turned white before releasing it and taking a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," He finally said, through a shuddering exhale. "I didn't expect Wendy to approach me about it; I especially didn't expect you to get attacked like this."

Kyle sighed, watching Stan lean back against his seat and staring at the rearview mirror. "I was walking with Craig when suddenly Wendy and Bebe came. They snatched me up and threw me in the hot seat. Everyone was there in the lunchroom, just interrogating me. Luckily Kenny came by to save me but…"

Kyle smiled for a second, knowing Kenny he probably would throw himself at the jocks for coming after him like this. He suddenly dropped his gaze at the before mentioned name.

"Craig?" Kyle said.

"Yeah," Stan turned to his best friend, "I have class with him before lunch, remember?"

"Oh," Kyle turned to look down at the center console, a question fighting its way from his heart. "…What did he want?"

His cheeks grew warm as he fidgeted in his seat. His eyes scanned the truck's dashboard and upholstery, anywhere but Stan's face as he thought of a response. Kyle knew that face too well; it was his _I'm-thinking-of-a-lie_ face.

Fucking Craig, Kyle hated the guy. He was weird, he always smelled like cigarettes, and was plain just a fucking dick to him. What made things even more tense between him and the Tucker boy was that right after Wendy and Stan broke up, he latched on to Stan like he was some fucking pity pose for him.

Kyle saw less of him, and he's been trying to avoid of Craig because of it.

"He just wanted to talk," Stan finally said, bringing Kyle out of his thoughts. "We were just talking about how no one did the homework and uh, Kenny was there too."

"Kenny hates Craig." Kyle said, simply.

Stan flinched at Kenny's mention. "I-I know, but he was walking with us for a minute."

"Stan…" Kyle groaned, leaning back in his seat.

"Yeah?" Stan hesitated, this conversation reaching a rollercoaster peak.

Kyle took a minute to think, staring up at the roof of the truck before rolling over, laying his cheek down on his hand as his eyes fell on Stan. They traced over his features; His hair looked matted beneath a blue beanie, his jawline turned him rugged action man status with a shadow of a beard growing in.

"I meant what I said," Kyle whispered, one of his hands finding its way to tug on Stan's arm and pulling it away from the wheel. He traced his fingers down until he found one of Stan's cold hands, mindlessly tracing his fingers between his to warm the digits. "I did miss you…I've been thinking about the party a lot, and I guess not being around you for a few days didn't help."

Stan visibly gulped, but not to Kyle. His own hand subconsciously gripped both the wheel and Kyle's. He was so warm, and Stan found his eyes entrapping him. That warm feeling, it grew from within his chest and pulsed through to meet the conjoined hands.

"I, uh," Stan stammered chuckling to himself, "I haven't stopped thinking about it either."

"Can I see it?" Kyle suddenly asked.

Stan watched him for a moment, before taking a deep breath. He brought his other hand down on the console and started to unwrap the gauze.

Kyle watched before asking, "Why do you wrap it?"

Stan focused on his hand while answering, "Well, yours in a nice hidden place. I guess Kenny thought it would be funny to make it so anyone could see mine. Ass." He tugged away the last of the gauze with the last word and laid it down before Kyle.

The other boy used his free hand to trace around the heart; it was three quarters done with the healing phase due to its size but was still clinging to sensitive skin, blank ink lightly pealing and shining from Stan probably moisturizing it before leaving.

Kyle smiled, his chest fluttering at the same design he donned on his thigh. "I can't believe we really had him do it."

Stan grew a faint smirk, "You're telling me. I've been getting by telling my parents I hurt it falling but imagine how pissed they'll be in like another week. Your mom would probably send you off to some Hebrew boot camp."

Kyle nodded, most of his focus still having his hand locked with Stan's. "Stan, can I be honest?"

"I'd be surprised if you weren't," Stan replied eyeing the Jew.

Kyle bit his lip. "The reason I left the party, when Kenny took me home…Craig had told me…he told that you and him," he struggled.

Stan's grip on Kyle's hand grew tighter, surprising the boy a bit as he turned to face the windshield. They were still parked in front of Kyle's house, not needing to be a school for another hour.

"I know," Stan shrugged. "Kenny told me that morning."

Kyle sat up, the hand not holding Stan's now reaching up to turn the jock's face to look him in the eyes. "Was it true?" He frowned at the sudden flinch in Stan's expression. "Stan, you can tell me! I'm not going to be anymore upset-"

"But you'd still be upset." Stan's voice became monotone. "You'd know and you wouldn't show it, you would never talk about it again and act fine, but you'd still be upset."

"Well," Kyle stared down at their hands, "can you blame me? I…I've liked you forever, dude."

Stan's eyes closed, his heart sinking at the words he knew were coming from his best friend's heart. "I've had to come to terms multiple times over the years that Wendy was yours and I would never be. After that ended, you're actually showing interest in me but at the same time having this random connection with Craig…"

The warmth left Stan just Kyle's hand slipped out of his grasp so he could face the window, his own eyes shutting to the melancholy filling the truck. "I don't know how to say it. I want to be with you; there isn't really anyone else right now I'd rather have an actual relationship with. Before the party, I started to think you felt the same and…"

"Kyle," Stan tried.

"No, it's fine," Kyle, sighed. "I'm lost in this too, I guess I just know what I want already and it's driving me insane."

They both fell into a silence, Stan's heart practically bleeding out from Kyle's words. He wanted to punch himself in the face for this; he never realized how bad this was for Kyle. All this time he pitied himself for Kenny bullying him and Craig teasing him. All the while, Kyle's been sitting sick at home because he didn't want to face that Stan might…not like him back?

"Kyle," Stan tried once more.

"And the hard thing isn't even Wendy's stupid ass taunting over text or her fucking cheerleaders, it's the idea that Craig has even the slightest advantage over me!" Kyle laughed, though frowning. "Like, it's fucking typical! Bebe Stevens knew I was gay in fifth grade before I did and denied me! I stood by your side through the Testaburger/Marsh saga and held your head up when she tried to put you down every single time…I miss one fucking football game-"

"Kyle!" Stan shouted, the name came out in a firm tone and startled the Jew. The truck succumbed to a silence again, this one holding a tense aura that irradiated off Stan and struggled between him and Kyle. His hands then were gripping the wheel again, a white-knuckle fury boiling beneath his skin and almost turning the heart on his hand a painful shade of red.

"I get it." Kyle snapped, arms again crossed looking straight ahead. "You don't have to say anything."

"Apparently I fucking do!" Stan snapped, still gripping the wheel. "You want to know what Craig was-is? Fine! I was depressed; on the verge of fucking elementary school _Raven_ status, okay? I just wanted to be alone and then here comes Tucker, and know that at this point I'm expecting some smug fucking response about how shit I look or how if I weren't too busy sucking dick Wendy wouldn't dump me so easily!"

Kyle watched out of the corner of his eye as Stan pounded the center console while he spoke, his words dripping more an more with venom as he went on. "And not to mention this mother fucker apparently sat by and watched Wendy dump me! So there we were-in the fucking rain, and he…he…"

Stan's shoulders slumped, falling back against the driver's seat. "He wanted to know if I was okay," He said with bits of his resolve falling away with each word, "He told me I looked like I could've used a friend…and we talked for awhile and…"

The butt of his fist hit the once more but softer, before flattening outing and dug his fingers to find the latch to lift it back. Underneath it where a third seat was hidden Kyle's eyes grew, for Craig's hat sat beneath it crushed against the upholstery.

"He's just a rebound, Kyle." Stan's silent hoarse voice pierced the tense atmosphere of the truck. "I…I want to be with you, please hear me when I say that after all this time of being with you that I know I want to be with you."

Tears brimming his eyes, Kyle stared at his best friend as he continued. "I'm just confused right now and I haven't transitioned into this cleanly. It's been two weeks and the only two guys I've found myself remotely attracted to are Craig and you, I swear."

Stan then turned to Kyle, reaching a hand out. "I'm sorry, but I think I just need time. I don't think I'm dating Craig but I need to see this out."

Kyle stared at the hand extended out to him, his vision blurring into grays and blues of the boy who pled to him. He was clearly broken up, and found solace in Craig. Kyle couldn't change that, but seeing Stan like this, he's never seen him so lost and confused. He had only been interested in Wendy and other girls; being potentially Bi was never a thought until Craig.

"I know this hurts, and believe me it's fucking weird too," Stan choked, "but I can't lose you. I don't want to lose you because of my stupid ass, Kyle."

The tattooed hand was then gripped by a slender pale one of Kyle's, wrapping around it and pulling himself towards his best friend until they were hugging. Stan leaned his head down on Kyle's shoulder and let out a shuddering breath. The two remained that way for a few minutes before Stan's phone began to vibrate.

He pulled away from Kyle enough to check the caller ID, only to see Kenny's name and number. "Guess he's wondering where we are."

Kyle shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "We should get going."

Stan nodded, turning back to face the windshield and turning the ignition. Kyle buckled his seat belt and took one last look at the hat between them, before slamming the center console back down.

"Stan?" He said, earning a look from his friend. "If you need me to stand by you in this, I will. I promised you that I'll always have your back and be there when you need me, no matter how much this once it'll bother me."

Stan put his head down for a minute, before turning back to his friend. "This isn't forever, you know? I don't…feel anything for him."

Kyle gave a weak smile, before turning to gaze out the passenger side window and watching his house pass behind them as they drove away.


	6. Chapter 6 Good Things

"Sup, dude!" Clyde greeted Craig outside the school, rubbing his upper arms and shivering. "Dude, where's your hat?"

Craig tapped a finger on his cig to shake loose ash to the snow. "Lost it." He said, with another tap.

"Aren't you cold? It's like fifty-something right now." Clyde looked closer at his long time friend with concern. "You could get sick, man."

Token rolled his eyes; the rows of braids he tied back save for the one that hung against his forehead hidden beneath a knit cap. He wore the school's letterman and a purple hoodie beneath it, blue jeans and white gym shoes.

"It's not that cold, man. Though you do look more pale than usual, Craig." He spoke through a yawn.

Craig glared before turning away to flick his cig into the snow, melting through the pile as steam ascended after it. "I'm just tired."

"You're always tired, but whatever." Clyde muttered, before snapping back to a grin. "Dude, you should've been with us at lunch yesterday! Stan got the grilling of a lifetime!"

"Stan's a jerk!" Bebe comment, remaining close to Clyde for warmth and pulling on a rouge strand of blonde hair beneath a pink wool beanie. "Can't believe how quick he moved on from Wends! And with Kyle Broflovski no less, fucking gross!"

Craig shrugged, his eyes half lidded and eyeing the frustrating blonde. "Okay? Why're you upset about it?"

"Because," Bebe stomped and crushing the snow beneath her tan colored Uggs, "Wendy did nothing but care about him and wanted to give him some space! And what does he do? Goes off and gropes him and parades about it at my party!"

"Weren't you there, man?" Clyde turned back to Craig. "I got so wasted and passed out before everyone, did you see anything?"

"Nope." Craig said.

Bebe and Clyde shoulders' slumped, pouting. "Aw, seriously?" She whined.

Craig kicked at some snow at his feet, "I mean, they weren't doing anything more than what two dudes who've known each other for as long as they have would do drunk."

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter." Bebe crossed her arms, smirking. "Wendy has a justified suspicion and sent the dogs after Stan's Jew-boo."

Token turned to the blonde, furrowing his brow. "What?"

"Me and a bunch of guys were texting him this morning," She sniggered, "Those boys can be pretty ruthless."

A sudden tense atmosphere enveloped the small party as Token brought a palm to his face and dragged it down. Clyde wide eyed stared his girlfriend while Craig shook his head, chuckling. "What?" Bebe asked, looking between the three boys.

Craig sighed, deadpanning. "Goddamn it, Bebe."

" _Hey!_ "

The four heads turned to face a fast approaching Stan Marsh, behind him was a then terrified looking Kyle. Craig could hear the Jew attempting to calm his fuming friend down at he trudged over to the group, his steps could've left steamed with the rage he held.

"Yo, yo, yo," Token stepped between Bebe and Stan, a hand extended as Stan stood a few feet away besides Kyle. "We just found out, man. Chill-"

"Fuck that!" Stan snapped, his eyes glaring through Token to the cowering girl behind him. "Where is she, Bebe? Where the _hell_ is she?"

"What are you going to even do when you find her, Stan?" Clyde asked through gritted teeth, taking a step forwards past Token.

Stan huffed, shutting his eyes tight as he fought to contain himself. "I just want to hear what she has to say. If she has any thorn in her side about this, she can just say it to me and leave Kyle out of this."

"What a gentleman," Craig muttered, not reacting to when he found himself in the jock's glare.

"Speaking of which," Clyde peered around Stan to the freezing ginger beside him, "good to see you amongst the living, Broflovski."

Kyle's eyes darted from Stan to Craig, before settling on Clyde and giving an acknowledging nod.

"Well, we haven't seen her," Token said, bringing the conversation back, "So for the sake of the group, fucking calm down."

Stan eyed Token for a few moments, his fists remaining clenched until he felt a nudging in his side. He turned to see Kyle's forest green eyes burrowing into his, almost instantly ripping the rage out of him as his hands dropped to his sides limped.

He dropped his gaze to the snowy concrete, his jaw still lightly clenched. "I'm calm," His words in contrast to his still arched brow as he repeated, "I'm calm."

"Good," Token lowered his hand but remained between his pissed teammate and the frightened girl. "Bebe, is Wendy going to be here today?" He asked without turning to the girl.

"Maybe," she said eyeing her bestie's ex over Token's shoulder, "she might be regretting it and probably stayed home realizing how you would react."

"How _did_ she expect me to react?" Stan snapped, causing Bebe to flinch. "It was fucking childish, and to assume anything is set in stone without even talking to me- _alone_ ," Stan added at the end, eyeing Token then.

Craig rolled his eyes, smacking his lips before turning to eye the spot where his cigarette sank through the snow.

"Well then," Clyde yawned, stretching his arms before hooking one around one of Bebe's, "We should be off to class now. You know how teachers are with tardiness and shit. Later!"

He abruptly turned to tug Bebe away from the others, her stumbling afterwards and cursing after her nervous boyfriend. Token shook his head before turning back to Stan.

"Look, man. I don't know what the other guys said but don't worry too much about it," His voice was soft before looking to Kyle and giving a small smile, "Whatever's going on between you two, don't matter."

Kyle hesitated a smile, while Stan gave him a nod in thanks. Token told Stan that he'd try to get the guys to stop before giving a short wave and walking after where the couple had disappeared into the school, leaving the duo with Craig.

Kyle awkwardly stared at the boy, his black locks now hung in his face and seemingly oblivious to the world around him. Kyle turned to Stan to see he too was watching Craig, unable to read him.

Soon the first class bell rung and those still lingering outside the school had begun to make their way inside. Stan and Kyle turned to walk pass Craig, only to find after a few steps he had joined them besides Kyle. Stan eyed the two, seeing how awkward Kyle was as Craig still had his eyes on his thumb typing away.

"So…" Kyle started scratching his head, "what projects did you say we all missed, Stan?"

Stan shrugged, still watching Craig as they walked. "I already forgot."

"Serioulsly," Kyle mocked.

"Did you do it?" Stan turned to his best friend knitting his brow.

Kyle opened his mouth to speak, but sighed. Stan grinned.

"The great Kyle Broflovski not doing an assignment," both turned to see Craig, having put his phone away, walking with his hands in his pockets and grinning. "It's a Christmas miracle."

Stan smiled meekly, "It would be a miracle if you turned in anything, Tucker."

Craig flipped him the bird, "Well not everyone's high school football career is based on a C- or above, Marsh."

"It doesn't take me possibly losing my scholarship to do okay in my classes." Stan glared.

"Well it also doesn't take much for you to drop below the safety net," Kyle added, "You should excel in your classes regardless, they're not that difficult."

Stan stared mouth agape as they approached the crowded school's entrance. "You're taking his side?"

Kyle shrugged smirking, "Nope, I've always nitpicked your grades."

Craig whistled, "Christ, Stan. With so many people watching over you, I wonder if you even dress yourself in the morning," He leaned over to grin at Kyle, "Or is that in your wing of responsibility?"

Kyle nearly tripped in a step as the entered the building, while Stan shot Craig a warning shot of a glare. The trio made their way past a few walls of lockers to find theirs, Kyle's and Stan's besides each other's while Craig's was on the opposite wall. Stan grabbed his history book out of his locker and shoved the door shut, leaning against it to watch Kyle search through the many books he had.

"You alright?" Stan asked, kicking at the tiled floor. Kyle turned to him with a sigh. "I mean, it looks like he's at least _trying_ to be on his best behavior. For once."

"I don't know about this," Kyle managed, "I'm really uncomfortable."

"Come on, Kyle," Stan groaned, "you just got here. It can't really get anymore awkward than the occasional jab. You dealt with Cartman for years!"

Kyle slammed his locked shut, causing Stan to flinch at the glare that immediately followed. "Cartman didn't fuck you."

Kyle then turned to walk pass Stan, only to be pulled back to stand before the jock. "Kyle, stop. This isn't-"

"What?" Kyle stared, his eyes narrowed and shimmering.

Stan stared back, his mouth open to speak. "…I'll talk to him."

Kyle furrowed his brow. "You'll talk to him."

Stan nodded. "I'll tell him I want space, and I'll just say that what I need right now is my best friend." He smiled holding out his left hand to flash his ink, "He'll understand. Would I really be lying at that point?"

Kyle sighed, only to break into a small smile. "Sure, okay. I got to get to class." He started off again, before nudging Stan in the arm. "See you at lunch?"

"Yeah," Stan watched Kyle walk off, his smile not fading until he felt another nudging at his back. He turned to see Craig looking down at his phone, a hand extended and now jabbing Stan in the chest. "Yes?"

Craig shrugged. "You have my hat, you shit."

Stan deadpanned, "I also have class, I'll get your hat later." When he turned to leave, Craig grabbed by the sleeve and locked eyes with him.

"Hey," Craig's voice was soft, "things alright between you two?"

Stan scanned his face for any emotion, knowing the search would be feat less. The icy stare meeting his own to the neutral line of his lips, his hair hung just over his brow as he never bothered to brush them away.

Stan gulped before nodding, "Y-Yeah. We're okay…He's just-"

"He doesn't like me," Craig stated, "I know. Don't blame him, but I'm sure that you're going to try and fix that?"

Before he could answer, Stan sighed as the tardy bell sounded and turned to notice he and the noirette were the alone together in the hallway.

* * *

The first classes had blend together for Stan, his eyes seemingly glued to the clock or the windows as his mind raced with images of his friends. Images of Kyle were the most prevalent, followed by images of Craig blurred in contrast.

He remained stoic in a sea of blurs and muffled voices. Butters who sat besides him in first period occasionally asked him if he were okay, which he responded with a nod and claiming he had lack of any sleep after drinking. He held back a sigh of relief each time, because he wasn't technically lying.

In the meanwhile, few people had begun to notice the picture on his hand and the pestering really began. With as fast as rumors spread around South Park, he seemed to manage to dodge any connecting it to him and Kyle.

Soon it was the third period of the day. Luckily for him, the teacher was out and a sub stood in her place. Kenny was late as usual and Craig seemed to be ditching. While students chatted with each other, Stan excused himself to use the restroom only to stand outside with the snow that had begun to fall.

"Stanley."

Stan turned to see Kenny, cigarette in a gloved hand and leaning against the wall a few feet away. He walked over to stand beside him and both just watched the snowfall for a while.

"So you're skipping class now," Kenny asked with a grin, "want to smoke? Or clog some toilets, my fellow delinquent?"

"Ha-ha," Stan deadpanned, his gaze not leaving the skies. "…I'm going to do it, Ken."

Kenny held his cig to his chapped lips, watching his friend out of the corner of his eye. "Do what, Stan?"

Stan took a deep breath, pulling his tattooed hand out of his pocket to rub the ridge of his nose, "I'm going to stop this thing with Craig, at least get him to give me space."

Kenny reached over to give a light tap on Stan's shoulder, grin growing. "Attaboy, man! Finally ditching your would be therapist and get the Broflov-train going?"

Stan chuckled, shaking his head and turning up to watch the clouds again. "Sure, man."

* * *

"Well," Craig quipped, "What's up?"

Stan took in a deep breath, standing before Craig with his gaze failing to keep its sternness the boy. The faint ambience of lockers opening and closing, squeaking shoes on tiled floor.

He licked his lips before finally meeting the shorter teen's icy blues. "This needs to stop."

"Oh?" Craig smirked.

"I promised myself that I wouldn't fuck this up between Kyle and me," He craned his neck and scratched the palm of his tattooed hand, "and I can't do that I'm always giving in to the part of me who owes something to you."

Craig crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. "You're breaking up with me."

Stan reared back, wide eyed. "We weren't dating!"

"We held each other," Craig pouted in mocked sadness, "I confined in you, in _us_ , you thanked me for all the times I was there for you-"

"And I am," Stan corrected, "as fucking weird as this whole thing has been. I am thankful for whatever reason you saved me from dipping back into some Hot Topic phase."

The noirette went silent, biting the inside of his cheek as he watched Stan. His eyes traced the jock, from his facial features to the hands he held together.

"Okay," He shrugged, "I get it. I'm fine with this."

Stan blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah, I'll live," Craig reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Stan watched the tiny reflections of the LCD screen in Craig's eyes before he spoke again, "but one last thing- who are you doing this for?"

"What do you mean?" Stan asked, him too now crossing his arms.

Craig shrugged; not taking is attention away from his scrolling thumb. "Are you doing this for Kyle's sake, yours, or for both of you? The only way I'll let this happen so willingly is if it's because you're okay and want to finally move on with what will happen, _and_ won't fall back into this teetering mode you always find yourself."

Stan shook slightly, frowning at the boy. "What makes you so sure you know that any of that's possible? And of course it's for the both of us! And hey who knows? I could be doing this for your benefit."

Craig shook his head, a small grin on his lips. "I spent hours listening to you purge your thoughts from the back seat of your truck and you're questioning me on knowing how your head works?"

Stan opened his mouth to speak, but Craig already begun to turn and leave. After a few steps, Stan walked after him and tapped him on the shoulder, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the blue chullo from his truck.

Craig eyed the hat, before taking it in his grasp and returning it to its rightful spot on his head. He met Stan's eyes, his expression soft. "You big softy."

"I used to think you'd always kind of be a dick to me my friends, but now I'm actually starting to think that you might care about me." Stan chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

Craig turned away shrugging, his phone back out. "Let's just say I'd go to your funeral. Later, Marsh."

Stan shoved his hands into his jean pockets as Craig Tucker retreated into the shifting traffic of the school hallways, eyeing the bouncing yellow ball atop the hat before it was swallowed up in the crowd.

* * *

Kyle down at the tray of half eaten food uneaten by him even the smallest morsel. An orange parka sleeved hand snaked across the table and snatched another French fry and flicked it into the path of Kenny McCormick's mouth. I

It was when another sigh slipped past his lips is when Kenny took notice, and moved to sit beside the Jew. "Hey, pal. It'll be alright."

"When has anything in this town turn out alright, Ken?" Kyle stated, his stare drooping towards the try as he flicked at the small bag of chips.

Kenny shrugged, wrapping an arm around his friend. "It's worked out for us more often than not, though." The poor teen's grin dropped when he noticed his joking demeanor failed to lighten Kyle's spirits, and his voice then took a serious tone. "I'm sure he'll be here any minute. If he's doing what I think he's doing, he's probably pussy-footing around it."

Kyle turned to Kenny to say something, but his eyes darted away passed him to the cafeteria's entrance to see the boy in question. He stood there for a moment scanning the room before spotting them, a smile on his face as he sped walked over.

"Well, well, well!" Kenny cheered, getting up to return to his seat as Stan sat down besides Kyle. "How'd it go? Can I kill him now?"

Stan shook his head, a small chuckle leaving him. "It's all fine, he's…dealing with it as well as I guess I should've expected from him."

Kyle said nothing, only revealing in the closeness of his best friend as he listened on. Kenny cracked his knuckles, "You sure man? Him and me smoke in the same spot and I know everybody else there. We can make it look like an accident."

Stan shook his head, before leaning down elbows on the table and turning to Kyle. "Feeling better?"

Kyle turned to see him. "Hmm?"

"I like to think of this move as a step in the right direction," Stan winked, "wouldn't you think?"

Kyle gaped before smacking him in on the shoulder as he felt his cheeks warm up, "Fuck off, you ass!"

"Yeah, Stan."

The trio turned to the head of the table, only to be greeted by a furious Wendy Testaburger.

* * *

Sorry for the cliffhanger(not a fan of those)but I just wanted to get this out before the holiday and would have to leave this till New Years. Thanks to all of you reading and reviewing along the way, I love to hear feedback be it positive or negative so don't be afraid to leave either...hopefully it is constructive, ha-ha.

-ABGE


	7. Chapter 7 Every Stan Has A Wendy

Stan threated to boil over, seated with eyes pointed daggers and tongue flicking at the back of his teeth like a kindling flame. The school's head cheerleader stood in a violet coat, the sleeves hugging her arms crossed across her chest. Her toe tapped beneath the table in a pair of white snow boots, reaching up to her mid calve to meet with black denim jeans.

"Oh," She said shifting weight from one leg to the other, "I think I'm interrupting."

"Oh great," Kyle mumbled, covering his face with his hands. Kenny leaned forward to rest his elbows on the tabletop, side eyeing the end of the table.

"Whoa check it out, Stan," he snuck another fry from Kyle's tray. "Tater tots are back on the menu."

"Ha-ha, Kenny. Fucking hilarious," She cast the comment aside to eye the steaming jock and his friend.

"Fuck off, Wendy." Stan said, turning to the tray before him. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Shame," She said tilting her head to try and see the jock's eyes, "but I guess I can't make you. So I'll just talk to Kyle."

She sat on Kenny's side and hugged the farthest corner away from the trio. She took in a deep breath and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry about what happened with the guys, Kyle."

The Jew's head perked up at her words, though did not want to turn to her. "What I did was…admittedly childish. " She turned to look over the rest of the lunchroom and scanned the many other tables; "I went into total bitch mode when I heard about…you and Stan."

Kyle felt Stan's side twitch against him, turning to see his best friend fuming and burning holes into the tray. Seemingly at risk of lashing out at the girl.

"I remembered that I still had your number and…well it to the team and told them you were the reason we broke up."

Kyle deadpanned, "Well, that explains it."

"Wait, she did what?" Kenny's grin dropped along with the fry in his fingers at the confession before turning to her with narrowed eyes, "You did _what_?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a total bitch, you can say it," Wendy sighed. "I'm here to apologize. More out of seer shame than so you and Stan won't come at me screaming hollow warnings and insults later."

Stan turned to meet her stare, gripping the ends of the table. "And what makes you think giving Kyle some petty apology would stop me?" He growled through barred teeth.

Wendy leaned back in her seat uncomfortably, dropping her gaze to the table. "I know it won't, but I can spot my mistakes and learn from them. It's what high school is for, right? Making mistakes and learning from them?"

Kenny chuckled bitterly, "Awfully Holy than thou today."

"You know, this isn't for either of you," She stated not looking up before turning back to Kyle, "You don't have to accept it, Kyle. I honestly don't expect you to given our relationship to the matter. I just want you to know that I am sorry, truly."

The table was quiet then; the tension in its surrounding atmosphere created a soundproof bubble, blocking out the mixture of voices in the cafeteria. Kenny watched Kyle's expression, searching his eyes for anything only to find the Jew turning to Stan, whom held his glare on Wendy where the three-way staring match connected back to Kyle.

"I mean, I can't." Kyle turned away from Stan to Wendy with a knit brow, "not just like that."

Wendy frowned, dropping her gaze to the table.

"But I see it took a lot to apologize for what you did and admitting to your mistake," Kyle continued awkwardly, "so even if I can't forgive you now, I do I guess commend your owning up to it."

To this, Wendy looked up with a hint of a smile on her face. "O-Oh, great."

Kenny snorted, "What the fuck even is this?"

Wendy glared at the poorer teen and cleared her throat a second time, "Alright, well I'll be going now."

Stan craned his neck, "What?"

"I'm going." She said, "If you believe that you are much happier being in a relationship with Kyle, than that is good enough for me."

"Fuck off," Stan grunted.

Kyle bit his lip, "Stan…"

"Yeah, gumdrops," Kenny added crossing his arms, "we're sick of your shit."

"Kenny…" Kyle hissed, feeling the tension increase.

"Well excuse me," Wendy's voice turning to a sharper edge, "I came over trying my best to be nice-"

"No," Stan interrupted, "You came over trying to get out of answering for your instigating and assumptions!"

"Nobody said anything about any of that!" Wendy shot back, voice cracking before sitting back down and mimicking Kenny's posture. "I came over here before god and everyone to apologize. I'm not starting any fights this time- _you_ are."

Stan's face only seemed to tint a harsher shade of red as the hands he held in his lap balled into fists. "Wendy, I swear to god," Stan spoke low, "just yesterday you are so hung up on this… _rumor._ "

"You don't have to hide it from me," Wendy stated, "Enjoy your lunch."

With that Wendy stood away from the table and walked off, the three boys watching as she made her way through the crowded room to sit with the football team. A few of the students stared back, some consciously not making eye contact with one of there own staring daggers back.

"Well that was uncomfortable," Kenny spoke after a moment's silence. "Why didn't either of you two tell me what she did?"

Kyle snaked a hand beneath his hat and run it through his red curls, "We figured you would have lunged at her first thing this morning," He said with a sigh, "were you not seeing how Stan's been fighting combustion just sitting here?"

"She better keep her distance," Stan said, his head resting on his arms folded on the table's surface, "that's all I'm saying."

Kyle frowned at this. He reached down and patted the steaming Stan's thigh, bringing attention to himself. "Come on, dude. It'll be fine."

Stan watched Kyle's face, a warm smile danced on his lips while his eyes searched his own waiting for his words to connect. The forest green of his irises melted away the ice that had coated his nerves in Wendy's presence. His posture relaxed, and he found his hands no longer clenched in his lap.

With a sigh Stan responded in a nod, only to find the pink beret over the many heads of the crowd.

* * *

With the last period dismissed, Craig's thumb tapped his phone's screen interrupting the track that had been on repeat. After meeting with Stan before lunch he had chosen to walk about the campus aimlessly, and spending the rest of the day in a peaceful silence.

The same thoughts however struggled with the concept of silence. Ignoring the stares he received as he turned another corner for the third time, Craig fought the fact that Stan no longer needed him-officially no longer needed him. His company was dismissed and yet-

"That mother fucker…" Craig mouthed the words passing a couple with an urge to punch a random locker.

 _We weren't even dating_. The words hurt a bit but Craig was stubborn to see why. He figured they held merit, for he and Stan weren't in an actual relationship. Stan needed a shoulder to cry on, and Craig needed Stan. Needed.

Wanted. He sighed walking as he searched his word bank for a suitable verb to fit the mold of Stan. Craig soon found himself out in the parking lot and another cigarette lit between his lips. He knew what his feelings for Stan were, but he also knew what that would do if he were to fully commit to them.

Every thought of the muscular teen; the warmth of his truck, his natural scent, the many night spent running fingers through his disheveled hair as he let out his confusing thoughts and feelings. The ache and rasp in his voice, and the silence that followed it. That stupid grin he would get whenever he got under Craig's skin.

Not halfway through the cigarette was Craig soon joined by Token, who had apparently chosen to abandon his plans with Clyde, Bebe and the team.

"I figured a break from all that would be good," The dark-skinned teen said. "What are you up to?"

Craig watched the parking devolve into vacancy, finding himself doing so too far often. "This, I guess."

"Where's Stan?" Token asked, though with his eyes never leaving Craig's it seemed he already knew the response.

"I don't know," Craig responded, the dark smoke floating of his words mixing with the chill of the air, "and I don't care."

Token smirked, "Yeah, sure you don't." He patted Craig on the back and walked on past him towards the lot, spotting his car in the distance. "Come with me. We'll drink and you can piss and moan over getting your ass kicked in Battlefield."

Craig chuckled through a frown, but dropped his cigarette in the snow and followed Token to his Mustang. The white of the snow contrast against the slick blackness of the paint, the license plate reading TOKNBLK.

Just as Craig found himself at the passenger side door, he heard laughter back towards the school and turned grimacing. Kenny, Stan and Kyle walking off campus together. Stan probably agreed to give them a ride after school, after which he was probably going to hang out with his Jew.

Craig aggressively clutched the hand of Token's car door as he thought back to the many times he spent in that passenger seat, and slammed the door once inside at the image of Kyle taking it away.

* * *

There! Sorry for the delay and short update, if I didn't get this out I didn't think I'd get anywhere. Next update will be up before the end of the week. Thnx for reading and please review!

-ABGE


	8. Chapter 8 Wishful Thinking

The taillights of a red rusted truck faded off down the road, snowfall engulfing them in the nighttime blizzard.

Kyle leaned against the doorframe. His blanket wrapped over one shoulder while wearing in an old t-shirt and school sweat pants. He stared off down the road aware of the dreamy look he wore with glazing eyes. His pale skin was numb to the blend of warmth from his house behind him and the chill of the outside while he still clung to the feeling of Stan's arms around him just moments before.

Knowing that he could've been risking a cold, Kyle turned away from the tire tracks in the snow being quickly filled in and back into his home. The living room quickly took him into its warmth, the smell of dinner still wafted in the air.

The night wasn't meant to be romantic. Kyle didn't expect much from Stan driving him home and joining him in their studies, which usually lead to playing video games or reading comics and eventually Stan's departure. Yet something felt more intimate about this time.

 _Please…_ Kyle doubted his inner thoughts. _It's been two days, I can't just expect him to drop Craig and suddenly realize he's in love with me…_

Passing his father on the couch and up the stairs, thoughts plagued his mind of the path he and Stan were at the foot of-one that could potentially bring them together. It wouldn't take much; with the history they had and the fact that they were nearly inseparable, but-

The bedroom groaned when he fell against it, his shoulder meeting the wood with a thud as a hand lazily grips the handle and turns. Kyle slipped inside and moved to shut it behind him. The thick red curls mashed against his forehead and the door, his eyes shut as he attempted to ward off the doubting voices around him and Stan.

Instead, a smile grew on his lips. He turned to face the room; He pictured Stan standing in the center, his hat joining his on the floor as the jock's tattooed hand slips around his neck and pulling him in. He imagined lips crashing to his, arms taking him into a strong chest and his scent as he is pulled back with him onto the bed.

Once his eyes opened he his only met with the ceiling lamp, he having walked and spun around to fall back against the sheets alone to hear the groaning bed frame. Emerald eyes tracing over the dried starting of paint droplets, briefly remembering the maddeningly dull sick days spent trying to count each one.

 _Maybe I'm being too wishful…_ He tossed the thought, rolling over to stare at the clock by his bedside before eventually falling asleep with thoughts of the boy.

* * *

" _Stanley-come down here this instant!"_

Stan cursed the morning, this mother's shrill voice shattering any hopes of remembering the actually pretty decent dream he was having. W the sleep from his eyes, he rose from his bed and pulled out a roll of bandaging from his bedside table to cover the healing ink.

" _Stan!"_ His father chimed in, knowing him Stan figured he was being forced to by his mother to be involved. _"Your mother-uh, we need to talk with you!"_

"I get it," Stan groaned descending the steps, "I'm coming!"

When bare feet met the final step, Stan was met with his parents at the couch in his living room; his mother, Sharon, stood with her arms crossed and already dressed for the day with a brown button up and jeans. His father, Randy, stood still in his bathrobe, clutching a white mug of fresh brewed coffee with its steam rising over his tired eyes mid sip.

Stan gulped as he made his way to sit on the couch before them. "What's up?"

He jerked back when his mother grabbed his left hand and ripped at the bandaging. "Whoa, whoa! Uh-ow!"

"Give it a rest, Stan!" His mother sighed, revealing the heart. "How long have you had this?"

Randy took a closer look at his, narrowing his eyes and nodding. "Boy, whoever did this needs some practice."

"The thanksgiving party," Stan sighed, "Kenny gave me it."

"McCormick?" Randy mused, "Figures. Boy's got his father crafts all right, down to his shit steady hand."

"Randy, this is serious!" Sharon scolded. "Stan, tattoos can be detrimental to finding a job! What were you thinking getting it on your hand? Were you drunk?"

To this Stan turned away from her, only to hear his father chuckle and his mother sigh.

"Oh come on, Sharon. The boy is going through the early stages of becoming a man!" Randy cheered, looking back at his son. "Bet you got this for your girlfriend, aye son?"

Stan paled, subconsciously biting his lip. "Uh, yeah. Wendy."

"Are you seriously condoning this?" Sharon turned to her husband, running her hands through her hair with a groan. "Our son starts drinking and you hardly scold him! He comes home with a tattoo and lies about it for a week and you're proud of him?"

"Aw, but he's just growing up," Randy said, wrapping his free arm around her waist. "Remember all the stupid things I did to get your attention?"

Sharon sighed, staring at the floor. "I do, but I don't want our son to not be able to earn a scholarship or get a job because of a poor decision made wasted at a party."

Stan glared. "Mom, I wasn't _wasted_!"

His parents only looked back at him, Randy knitting his brow.

"Ugh, I'm going to get ready for school." Stan glared at the floor as he rose from the couch and made his way back to his room. Randy shook his head and laughed.

"Our son is going to make that girl a happy wife," He said holding Sharon to his chest, who pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

* * *

Kenny sat alone, by choice he held his spot on a bench outside by the high school's gym as fingers poking out ripped gloves toyed at the wrapping of a pack of cigarettes. His silent frustrations voiced only in the steam seeping through gritted teeth; his numb fingertips failing at scratching the plastic.

"Now that's just depressing."

Kenny snapped his head up and glared at the voice's source. "Fuck you! It's cold as shit and I need a smoke."

Craig rolled his eyes and made his way to stand before Kenny. He held out his hand and gave a Kenny a pitiful stare.

Kenny glared at the boy for a few moments before letting out a sigh and handing over the pack. Craig pulled at the golden strip that clearly read pull here to McCormick's blank stare.

"Wow," Craig said in mock surprise, "Cartman's right. Poor people can't read."

Kenny snatched the pack back, "Fuck off, Tucker."

"You're welcome, it was no trouble." Craig replied, sitting down besides the parka-clad teen.

"Whatever, what do you even want?" Kenny spat as he brought a cigarette to his lips, "And don't even try to get on my good side just because you agreed to leave Stan alone."

Kenny dug his hands into his parka's pockets in search for a lighter while Craig stared up into the sky-The closer Colorado got to Christmas the less blue he saw in the sky, the more silver shinning clouds crowded above the town and mountains around it.

Snow crushed beneath his boots as he stood back up, Craig's empty expression fell somewhat. "Nothing."

Kenny's fingers found the clear blue lighter in his coat. "Nothing?"

"I mean," Craig stood faltering slightly, "the fuck do you expect?"

Kenny shrugged, lighting the cigarette in between his lips and breathing in. "I don't expect anything. Actually that's a lie. I expect you to be pissing and moaning to _Token_ or _Clyde_ about this shit, not me."

A gust of wind came through, the wind chill snatching the smoke off Kenny's lips while Craig glared in silence. "In fact, after all this time I figured this wouldn't bother you so much."

Craig subconsciously took a step back when Kenny's crystal blue eyes snapped to his from beneath the fur of his hood. "What's that supposed to mean?" Craig barked back.

Kenny chuckled. "Nothing."

The two watched each other, a battle of blue eyes between them in a smoking silence before Craig closed his and walked passed Kenny. The hooded blonde watched the steaming Tucker stomp off and around the side of the gym while he smoked, a slight smirk on his lips at his handiwork.

"Hey, Kenny!"

"Oh goddammit," Kenny brought a hand to his face as Clyde Donavon came running up to stand before him panting. "If you're looking for Craig, he fucked off in that direction." He said, waving a hand down past the gym.

Clyde caught his breath before speaking. "I was actually looking for both of you, but I guess Craig backed out of it."

Kenny furrowed his brow while taking a drag. "Out of what?"

"Why are you so against him being with Stan?" Clyde asked, hand on his hips.

Kenny chocked on the smoke and his chest, lurching forward. "Ugh, what?"

"Like ever since he and Stan started hanging out you've been more a dick than usual," Clyde frowned. "I get he can be just as much of a dick-I should know because I probably spend more time with him than anyone…"

Kenny mouthed a few blah-blah's as Clyde continued, "…but when He was with Stan in whatever they were together he was…" Clyde shrugged, "I don't know, happy."

"Why is that my fault?" Kenny asked, taking another drag and blowing smoke upwards. "Besides, Stan never liked him anyways. He was always looking for an excuse to drop the guy. He jus needed some motivation."

Clyde crossed his arms. "It's Kyle, isn't it?"

"Maybe, maybe not." Kenny shrugged. "I'm not their fucking manager. Whatever those two do together is their business, I'm not involved in their maybe potential love lives."

"If you're not involved, why were you so against Craig?" Clyde glared.

Kenny glared back, standing up and flicking his cigarette into the snow. "Listen, Donavon. I like you so I'm going to try and be nice, all right? Craig's your _bestie_ , okay? Kyle's been mine since diaper days and he and Stan have had my back every step of the way. I owe them any amount of happiness I can give, so the least I can do is keep Craig as far the fuck away from what I know they have-"

"But what I Craig loves Stan?" Clyde blurted out, his eyes widening as the words splat against Kenny as he mirrored his own expression.

Kenny tilted his head. "What."

Clyde stood there, slowly turning away and shoving his fists in his pockets. "I… _Token_ and I figured that he developed something for Stan. He told me to leave it alone and not to push it, but since the only ones who know about Stan and him are you, me and Toke…"

A silence fell between the two, snowflakes falling around them. Kenny stared at the back of Clyde's head, his hands shivered in the cold before clenching into fists.

He took a step forward and reached out, resting a hand on Clyde's shoulder. Clyde turned back to him and saw his eyes cast downwards.

"If you're right," he began, "and he does, than we should just let things sort themselves out."

Clyde turned back, pushing Kenny's gloved hand away with narrowed eyes. "What, like you have?"

"I didn't tell Stan to drop him." Kenny said firmly.

"I'm sure you did," Clyde spat, "I honestly think there's something deeper to this than you let on."

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, totally. I ship Stan and Kyle so goddamn hard, I have their names tattooed on my ass."

Clyde's eyes widened, Kenny staring at him unsettled. "You gave Stan the tattoo!"

Kenny threw his arms up enraged. "Why can't anyone in this town keep their mouth shut?"

"You really hate Craig that bad, man?" Clyde stomped. "Did he kick your fucking dog or something?"

"Fuck this," Kenny turned away before snapping back to point accusingly at Clyde. "Stay the fuck away from me, and keep your mouth shut around Stan. About all of this."

"But don't you think Stan has the right to know?" Clyde pled. "If Craig were to tell him before anything even happens between him and Kyle-"

"Then I won't let it get to that," Kenny stated, turning to face where the Tucker had stormed off. "In fact, I'm going to see if I can catch up with the prick now."

Clyde opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his tongue as Kenny stomped away from him towards the gym. He stood there alone, awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

* * *

I think Sundays are going to be the days I update this fic. May change depending on my work schedule, and other projects. Thanks for reading and please review!

-ABGE


	9. Chapter 9 Perspective

"…But then my dad just saw it as like some symbol of love for Wendy," Stan told Kyle, seated and head in his hands in their shared history class. "We broke up like almost a month ago!"

Kyle rolled his eyes, licking his thumb to turn the page of the textbook between them. "At least they know you have it now. You don't have to spend anymore time freaking out about it or trying to hide it."

"Yeah, easy for you to say." Stan grumbled, letting his blank hand fall against Kyle's on the table. "You don't have to try so hard to hide yours."

"Maybe I was thinking ahead." Kyle smirked.

"You worried about when you'll tell them?"

"When will I have to?"

Stan shrugged, "I'm just saying, one lazy morning, or maybe pool party?"

Kyle shook his head, smiling knowingly. "Just admit that I won when it comes to placement."

"Man how come between the two of us, I always get the shit end of the stick?" Stan pouted, eying the chalkboard and inattentive teacher nose in a book.

Kyle hummed, still reading. "Maybe it's karma."

"For what?" Stan laughed, "Never letting you win at MK?"

"Not saying that wouldn't have helped," Kyle smirked looking up to see Stan smiling back, a spark of the lights above them flashing a quick glare in his eyes. The students all too focused to bare the two any mind. They had all been working on a make-up assignment; Kyle and Stan having somewhat finished it pretty early and just talked amongst themselves.

Stan leaned in close, his voice a whisper. "I've never noticed how green your eyes are."

Kyle snickered, "What?"

"They're like," Stan leaned in with his elbows on the table, "I don't know, sparkling and pretty."

Breaking eye contact and half-stammering to himself, Kyle bit his lip. "Well t-thanks. Suppose you don't really notice things about a person until you start looking at them a certain way."

"Oh?" Stan grinned, hazel eyes half-lidded. "And how am I looking at you right now?"

"Shhh!"

Two heads snapped up to turn towards the front of the class, the stern gaze of the professor staring back.

When the elder returned to his book, the boys broke out in silent snickers. Kyle the boy across from him in the shin lightly, shaking head. "You're going to get us in trouble," he whispered, turning back to the textbook.

Stan however kept his gaze on the Jew before him. "I'm not doing anything," he whispered back, and kicking Kyle back beneath the table.

Kyle sighed, a smile on his lips as he sent another kick Stan's way, receiving on back almost immediately. He was failing horribly at hiding his happiness from Stan, biting back fits of laughter as his childhood from would miss or get block by his own kick.

"Would you two stop," a student hissed, "Playing footsie and shit. Christ."

Kyle and Stan both sat in silence, heat in color rushing to their cheeks as some students snickered at their expense.

* * *

"Hey fucker!"

Craig glanced back and glared hard through the snow, tucking his phone into his pocket and turning on his heel. "The fuck do you want, asshole?"

Kenny stomped down the hallways, his blue eyes nearly glowing as he drew near. "We aren't finished, not fucking yet. Now I want you to explain just what the fuck you were going to say and right now."

Craig could've spat in the blonde's face with how close he came to him, gloved hands balled into tight fists. The scent of tobacco lingered around him; the snow from the outside melted and seeped into the fabric of his dirty old orange parka.

"And just why would I fucking do that, McCormick?" Craig hissed, "I don't owe you shit, we aren't friends-it's fucking clear you don't want me around your little buddies- the Jew and that fuck-boy jock-"

Kenny snapped, one hand clutching at the fabric of Craig's hoodie with the other coming up to punch the locker behind him, the loud slam echoing down the halls and vibrating the lockers around the impact. "You…you don't even believe the bullshit you're saying." He said with a solemn chuckle.

Craig's eyes focus cautiously on the hooded teen before him, his hands shaking at his sides betraying his stern emotionless confidence. "W-What?"

Kenny didn't let up on his stare, piercing and reflecting in Tucker's eyes. "Do I have to state the obvious, or do you want to tell me? Because up until about a moment ago I swore you just wanted to fuck with Stan."

"S-Shut up!" Craig hissed back, dipping his head down.

"Say it," Kenny in a low voice, "fucking prove me wrong."

The two fell into a heavy silence; the clumps of snow McCormick had kick and lead into the gleaming tiled hall had melted into disconnected puddles trailing from the doors. Snowfall had increased since the two begun their shouting match, lucky enough for them the classes there hadn't heard the slam or silent shouting yet.

Craig let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, looking back up to Kenny. The other took a step back, his face falling at the sight of Tucker's statuesque expression cracked with tired eyes and two tears sliding down his cheeks.

"I didn't want to," He started, "I didn't mean to…He made it eaiser, ya know?"

Kenny listened, dropping his head and slumping his shoulders. He stomped to the opposite wall and stared at the floor, hands on his hips and shaking his head. "How the…just when-"

"No," Craig then spat, angry. "Fuck this. All of this; you knew about us, about everything from the start. You berated him every fucking step of the way and you…you…"

Kenny couldn't turn around, hearing the subtle cracking in the boy's voice. He was behind him now, burning holes in the back of the parka's hood. "I'm fucked up, McCormick. I've been since he left." He pulled out his phone, thrusting the illuminating screen at Kenny's back.

Kenny gritted his teeth, his own eyes could set the community board he faced on fire. He knew what would be on the screen, and it made him sick. "Look at me, Ken." The other boy commanded. "Fucking. Look at me."

Kenny shook his head. "Craig. I'm-"

"Don't say this stupid pussy bullshit with your fucking back to me, asshole!" Craig barked with a shuttering octave, " _TURN AROUND_!"

The blonde's shoulder's twitched, freezing in a hesitant step as he turned to face the ravenette and immediately wishing he hadn't. Craig Tucker was no longer Craig Tucker standing before him. He saw a boy washed over in red and white flashes, a small crowd of people at the end of the block and few crying eyes as the white ambulance drove off into the snow, taking away a childhood friend and lifeline from the boy before him.

He also saw Kyle; he saw the distraughtly green eyes on a pale face haloed by red and ivory. He felt the pangs at his heart the nights he'd talk the boy down when ever he heard or saw of Stan.

His jaw twitched, his hands balled back up into fists as Craig's grip on the phone shook.

"I couldn't help him," He shook and spoke softly, "I wasn't enough…I talk to him every day, and all I can fucking think is how he won't let me say sorry. He won't let me take the hit for him because he think's it was his fault, but I know he wouldn't have if I had been there."

Kenny watched him speak, uncomfortable. "That night after the game, it was elementary all over again. Dumped by that bitch and ditched in the fucking rain, yeah. Fine; I fucking cared." He said with a dark chuckle. "But it wasn't just him, he helped me. I could actually laugh again, or fucking smile a little from now and then-"

"Stop," Kenny begged, calmed. "I…I get it."

"No, you fucking idiot." Craig spat, "You don't. You stand there proud to have helped your friends find each other and play matchmaker. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe some fucking people aren't meant to be with who they think they are?"

"That's not fair!" Kenny shot back, "Kyle and Stan are happy together and like each other-"

"But I love him, Kenny!" Grinding teeth and shuteyes is what brought Craig to say it, the words taking Kenny out of his own rage for a fleeting second. Tucker's shoulders sank and he slid down the wall to the snow covered ground, leaning on his crossed arms. "And he loves me too. You've seen it."

Kenny wouldn't respond, he would just stand and stare back. Piercing blue eyes like daggers, wishing they could puncture everything in their path. Kenny wished they had and stood limp against the community board after Craig took a step and shoved him back.

"Fuck you, McCormick." He spat; "Fuck you, f-fuck your little Jew, and f…fuck-"

The phone chimed.

Kenny fell silent as Craig froze, the screen before him with a flashing label reading _Tweakers Calling_ … and a peaceful ringtone sounding along. He watched as Craig's hand flipped over for him to read the screen and his face fall, his anger almost evaporating in an instant.

Tucker turned to glare at Kenny, before turning around and clicking the answer button.

"H-Hey," He whispered into the phone. Kenny couldn't hear the voice on the other line, but judging by how Craig would flinch at every other word, he could picture a blonde boy jittering and shouting out every other word. "No…nothing is happening, okay...Fuck, I-No, I never said…"

Craig sighed, dropping his head. "O…okay," his voice was monotone again, his stance was calm again, and as he turned back to Kenny, it looked as if nothing in the past few minutes had even happened. "Alright, I will tonight…love you too, Tweeks. Bye…"

His arm fell dropped to hang at his side, phone still in his grasp. His eyes were on the floor now, the puddles gleaming on the tile. Kenny's mouth opened, yet the words he planned gone and withered on his tongue and only spoke with a single sigh.

Craig broke the silence, "Repeat any of that," he threatened, "anything you just heard from the second you stepped in here to anyone, and I'll fucking bury you, Kenny."

His voice was emotionless; his eyes wore no shine, lips tight and unmoving. Kenny could've sworn that he didn't know if Craig was even breathing. However, moving only his head he agreed.

"I'm leaving," Craig said, staring at his phone and turning to his backpack.

It was only then that Kenny found the urge to move and stepped away from the wall, a few of the flyers and items from the board falling to the floor gone unnoticed. "Wait-"

"Don't."

He flinched; Craig voice cut quick, leaning down to grab his bag. "Don't say shit to me, ever. And don't fucking follow me either."

With that he gathered himself and headed towards the double doors, and not with a single glance behind him. Kenny watched him walk through and trail the melted snow puddles out, connecting them together into a single path ending the closing of the doors. The blonde stood in silence, hands limp to his sides, jaw slightly a gape, and eyes almost unblinking.

Tweek, he guessed, just went and stopped Craig dead in his tracks with a few words. And Craig _did_. He snapped back into normal dead-in-the-face-and-fuck-you Tucker as if nothing even mattered, and it kind of creped Kenny the hell out.

Something was wrong with Craig he now concluded, and yet any future opportunities to question were off the tables with that send off. Not that they wouldn't be off the table to him anyway.

Kenny sighed, dipping his head and pulling his hood. "Shit."

* * *

Kenny didn't feel quite the same after that incident; Days later he sat in the back of Stan's truck with him, Kyle and even Clyde, who occasionally would shoot Kenny an unnoticed hint of a glare. Kenny kept his unspoken promise to Craig not to speak of the incident that while ago, watching as Stan noticed more and more of his absence around with him not turning up in the classes he shared with them.

Clyde sometime after noticed Craig not responding to texts or calls and knew Kenny was involved. _"What did you do?"_ He remembered the Donavon boy questioning him, _"I told you to talk to him to make peace and now he doesn't even show up to class! What happened?"_

He would tell him to ' _go ask him yourself'_ , receiving glares in silence. Even then in the back of the truck out by Stark Pond, Kenny were the only one to feel the tense between him and Clyde.

"Kenny?"

The blonde fell back down to earth at his mention and looked to the source, Kyle pushing some of his over growing hair back under his hat. "Are you okay? You haven't said anything since we came out here."

"Y-Yeah," Kenny scratched the back of his head, "I'm just, a little under the weather is all."

"You're never sick," Stan poked, "You on cat piss again?"

Kenny smiled uneasily, "Ha."

"Maybe you caught what Craig has," Clyde stepped in, nose in the air. "He's been pretty sick as of late too, going home, not answering any calls…"

Stan furrowed his brow at this, Kyle not noticing much to Kenny relief.

"You talked to him awhile ago, right?" Clyde prodded, "Anything new? Did he mention being sick or something?"

"When did you talk to Craig?" Kyle then asked, Kenny wondering when it got so warm in the middle of snowing season. "I didn't know you were on talking grounds."

He his eyes bounced between the three boys, only to fall on Clyde, who no longer hid the bitterness in his eyes which shot to Stan for a quick second.

Kenny coughed into one hand before crossing his arms and turning to the pond's iced over surface. "W-We're not, can't stand the guy. No offense, Clyde."

Clyde boiled beneath the surface, but nodded all the same. Kenny wished he were beneath the ice.


	10. Chapter 10 Blame It On Bad Luck Pt I

_It could be colder_ , Kenny thought. _It could be._

He stared at his hands; the tips were blunt and calloused, nails varied in length and skin littered with scars. His hands bared no temperature, but he was sure that they were like stone.

Rubbing them together in the back seat, knees pressed tight together as burst of shivers shook his body as he breathed into his poorly protected digits.

When the day had drawn to a close, the thickness in the air noticed only by Kenny kept him silent. The sun dipped behind the mountains surround the town, leaving behind South Park a blaze in oranges and yellows as the fourteen drove home.

Stan in the driver seat had been talking with Kyle the whole drive; Ken overheard heard Cartman's name once or twice in passing, as he were too preoccupied trying to faze through the glass window and out of the car. Clyde sat beside him, watching with arms crossed and staring down the road.

It was Kyle's burst of laughter that brought Kenny out of his stupor; Stan had reached over and began tickling his side. Ken managed a weak smile, seeing his friends so happy. To see after recent events they were both together he thought, as long as that happiness remained. The three of them cut from the same cloth that was South Park, falling into similar pits of despair, as they grew older but they had all remained together finding support from it all. Kenny was thankful for that.

Clyde cleared his throat, and Kenny sighed.

But then, there was Craig- _fucking_ -Tucker.

Kenny sat up, crossing his own arms and stared down the road as they passed the first block of houses. "Hey, Kenny?" Stan perked up from behind the wheel.

"Huh?" Kenny responded.

"You've been quiet the whole ride," He pulled up to Clyde's home and set them in park before turning back eye the blonde. "Is something up?"

"Maybe he just needs some rest," Clyde shrugged, "he did mention getting sick earlier."

"I didn't you did," Kenny turned to the teen stepping out of the truck, "and I'm fine. Nobody's sick, nothings wrong. Drop it."

The others stared, Kyle shifting uncomfortably with his seat belt. "Right, well I'm going to go." Clyde said, turning around and walking up the driveway. "See you guys, at school."

They said their goodbyes and Kenny was silent. As the truck pulled away, Clyde watched them from his front porch. Kenny took off his seat belt and lay down in the now open space, blood now full circulating and allowing him to breath comfortably.

"Well that was weird," Kyle spoke up.

"Yup," Kenny said.

"Want to talk-"

Kenny interrupted, "Nope."

Kyle pouted, staring into the review. "You sure?"

"It's nothing, I'm just pissed off."

"Why?" Stan asked, Kyle turning back to him.

Kenny rubbed his arms, shaking his head. "I just, I don't know. Clyde and I don't see eye to eye right now."

"Could have fooled us," Stan said, "you guys seemed fine today."

"You didn't notice how often he'd try to worm Craig into every other conversation?"

Stan shrugged, "Honestly, I wasn't paying attention."

Kyle frowned, "What's his gain in doing that? Did something happen, Ken?"

Suddenly the car stopped, Kenny found themselves out by the tracks. His house was in clear view under a street lamp across from the shack. Kenny got out of the truck and walked passed the driver side as Stan out after

Stan turned to Kyle, taking off his seatbelt before he raised a hand. "Let me talk to him."

Kyle frowned, "He's my friend too, Stan. I'm worried."

"I am too, but do you really want to hear anymore about Craig?"

For a second, they stared at each other. Kyle sighed, and leaned back in his seat. "You'll tell me after?"

Stan smiled, "Maybe."

"Dick," Kyle rolled his eyes, watching Stan shut the door and run after Kenny through the windshield.

"Kenny!" Stan shouted after the parka clad teen, stopping him within a yard of his home. "Hey, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about this." Kenny shrugged, back to the jock. "Go home."

Stan stood there, watching Kenny from behind with a quizzical look. "Ken, what the fuck? Everything goes back to normal and then two days later you're acting like a dick."

Kenny chuckled, bitterness in his voice. "Maybe I am one."

"Man what are you talking about?" Stan pled. "Come on, you're my best friend-Kyle's too! You've been with us since day one and through so much, dude. You can't just shut us out."

"I'm not acting petty over some dumb disagreement with Clyde, Stan-"

"Then what?" Stan stomped, "What he said pissed you off about Craig getting sick-"

"For fuck sakes!" Kenny growled, "He isn't fucking sick, he's shutting himself out somewhere."

The two fell silent, Kyle watching all of this with the words muffled. He pondered getting out and rushing over, seeing the two shout back and forth.

"Then it is about Craig," Stan took a step forward. "Something did happen."

Kenny turned around fully, glaring at the ravenette. "Don't do this, Stan."

Stan stood firm, eyeing Kenny. "Then spill it."

Kenny eyes narrowed, only to close and sigh. "I can't." He groaned, "I just fucking can't."

"Why not?" Stan asked, holding out a hand. "If it wasn't a big deal then you'd have no reason to act like this-"

"Why do you care?" Kenny snapped. "Huh? Why do you still give a shit about that guy, Stan? Why's it still matter how he is?"

A breeze blew past the two, pulling with it leaves and trash rolling in a gust blowing Stan's open jacket and the fur on Kenny's hood in silence.

Kenny took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be, Ken." Stan said softly, "Look, how about we drop it?"

Kenny eyed him, Stan shoving his hands in his pockets. "I won't push this…you're right, I shouldn't care. I don't, it's you I'm worried about overall. Kyle and I worry when you get like this."

Kenny rolled his neck, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and pulling one out. "Eh, don't be worried. I'll manage."

Stan nodded, trying a smile. "Alright…Cartman comes back in a few days, yeah?"

Kenny waved him off, pulling out a lighter and placing the cigarette between his lips. "Yeah, yeah. We should do something when he does." Stan had started to walk away, when Kenny called back after him. "And Stan?"

Stan turned, "Yeah, Ken?"

Kenny lit the cigarette. "He says ' _Hi_ '," he nodded, "Craig, I mean."

Stan stood there, eyeing the expression on the teen's face. His eyes half lidded with blues hidden in the darkness of night falling. "Oh, alright."

With that, Kenny watched the jock return to his truck and after a few moments drive off into the night. As the glow of the taillights faded, Kenny stood alone in the single light and smoked. His shoulders heavy, his eyes like frozen over shutters, and his chest tight.

The conversation replayed in his head for the hundredth time.

* * *

If the moon were a spotlight, highlighting for all to see and pulling secrets out to the open, then it aimed intentionally on the hood of the crimson truck parked out front of the Broflovski residence. It was there Kyle sat rosy cheeked, muscular hands around to his back as his sat around Stan's neck and gazed into his eyes.

The cold ceased to exist; the nerves had stop shifting in his gut when he fell into them. They were like a lifeline, his oceans of blue of his friend and love. Waves crashed and so did he, burying his face in Stan's chest, hearing his snickering.

His parents were inside, cars in the driveway but he couldn't get away from Marsh, it was hard. His hands clung on to him, his face to his sternum breathing in his scent, and Stan made it no easier for him to leave either. Moments post to leaving the vehicle, Stan picked him up and sat him on the hood where they remained.

"Kyle?"

Kyle reluctantly removed himself from the warmth of Stan's torso and gazed back up into his eyes, seeing a chilling half lidded set stare back as he leaned down. They were inches away, Kyle's heart beating hard and nerves on fire as Stan lifted a hand to his chin and brought their lips together.

The kiss, as short as it were, felt as though years gone by. As they pulled away, Kyle was positively beaming. His cheeks glowing crimson, he pulled the flaps of his ushanka down to hide from his friend. Stan snickered, stroking the Jew's cheek and pulling him back in.

His hands mapping Kyle's back and lips carrying a smile.

"You're amazing, Kyle," Stan smiled.

"S-Shut up," Kyle snickered. "I think I'm going to cry."

"Pffft! Why?" Stan pulled back, seeing Kyle still trying to hide his face.

"Because…I'm just really happy right now," he whispered, "I don't know."

Stan leaned down, kissing his forehead. "Good, so am I."

* * *

Ash smoldered onto a plate, baring a half eaten sandwich crowded by empty cans of soda and a half empty bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. The wall behind this nightstand flashed from the TV screen, a black silhouette caste a shadow over the bottle. In front of the TV in a beanbag and stoic, Craig sat half conscious eyeing the floor.

His head hurt, the lights in his room hadn't been on in a while, his phone set to airplane mode with music blaring through the ear buds shoved in his ears. Bittersweet melodic Punk rock soothed the mental frenzy eating away at the back of his mind, his heart as of then was steady again. The taste of whiskey lingered for days with out a single sip, and the bottle stood behind him mocking the ghost on his taste buds.

An old zippo flicked about in one hand, the flame illuminating the room for seconds at a time and bring life to his eyes like dying light bulbs. The TV remained on for company sakes, he figured. Having not spoken to more than one person out side his family the past few days left his throat dry, Irish coffee and cigarettes were simply fallible ailments in this cold he had.

A cold, he had told his parents. His father bought him medicine, his mother consoled him, and his sister bitched and moaned about him being home to do whatever. A cold-it would explain the tired, teary eyes, the stuffy nose, the hoarseness in his voice, and the sleeping. Whenever it did come, Mister Sandman being a passive aggressive piece of shit then was a heavy inconvenience.

Craig leaned back further into the beanbag. Maybe it could swallow him up, the blue fabric could stretch out over him and take hold. He took a breath, imagining the bag opening up like mouth and blue tendrils wrapping around his limbs with the warmth of it soothing the inevitable calming demise he were to surely meet.

But the blue were too similar, his twisted imagination shattering from the image of a stupid blue hat atop a stupid head protecting a stupid brain.

 _Fucking McCormick_.

He groaned, the whiskey and sandwich duked it out for supremacy-loser meets the floor and possibly the carpet. He reached for his phone, swiping up with his thumb and hesitantly pressing the airplane symbol.

Oh, the many messages that graced his screen. Like an ocean of applause the came in droves, a good majority from Clyde he figured. He read several from Token to call him or at least let him know he were alive or he'd kill Stan. The idea forced a smile to his lips, he hated that he could. He responded with a poop emoji and kept scrolling through Clyde's messages.

That he did before receiving a phone call. He glared at the contact for a second before answering, "I hate that you know when I turn my phone back on."

" _Geez! Be grateful I called, you ass_!

"What are you up to?" Craig asked, clearing his throat. "How're the folks?"

" _You s-sound sick, Craig_ ," Tweek's voice came calm yet uneasy through the receiver. " _Have you been there all day? You aren't drinking are you?_ "

Craig rolled his eyes, "I'm fine, Tweek. Tell me how your day's been."

" _Craaaig_ ," Tweek whined, Craig snickered at his straining. " _It's been fine, more breathing exercises, more family stuff_ -"

"You're sounding better and better whenever we talk," Craig smiled, "No more bad thoughts?"

" _Nope! I do get worried a lot though_." Tweek replied, Craig imagined him toying with his hands with the phone on speaker across from him on his bed. The hospital he resided was in another state, too far no matter where it was. Craig had begged his parents to take him, but the doctors advised against visitors so soon. Tweek's parents would let Craig know every other month of any updates on when he could go visit. Since Tweek had a phone, it was easy making both just as inseparable as they were in South Park.

" _The scars…_ " Tweek whispered, " _They're going away, slowly. I wanted to tell you that, and also that I'm_ -"

"Tweek please."

The other line went silent; Craig could hear Tweek stammering quietly. " _Do you still hate me?_ "

"I never hated you."

Tweek was quiet again. " _I…erm…_ "

"You don't have to be sorry. You're still here, and you're healing. I miss you, Tweekers."

" _I-I miss you too, asshole_." Tweek's voice spoke from the phone. " _I want you to be okay, too._ "

"I am."

" _Don't lie to me_."

Craig sighed, flicking the zippo again. "I'm not perfectly fine, but I'm alright."

" _Ahem._ "

Craig glared at the phone, "Don't clear your throat at me."

" _I have no idea what you're talking about_."

"You suck," Craig said, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. After a few moments, Tweek broke the silence.

"…It's Stan still, right?"

Craig was silent, closing his eyes as Tweek continued. "You told me yourself, and it's not like Stan to just let shit with you escalate. He usually comes to you when it gets bad right?"

"But it's _Kyle_ ," Craig spat, "how do I compete with that?"

" _Just, I don't know. I don't know what to say_."

Craig sighed, "I'm still mad at Kenny…Piece of shit knows about everything."

Tweek sighed, " _I wish I was there with you_."

"So do I," Craig groaned, sitting up. He walked over to his bed and crashed into the sheets. "I can't sleep, I haven't in awhile."

"… _Want me to stay on the line? I'm going to take a nap too_."

Craig snickered, "Why are we lame?"

" _You're lame_!" Tweek blew a raspberry into the phone. " _Go to sleep, ass_."

"Pfft." Craig yawned, "Goodnight, Spaz."


	11. Chapter 11 Faintly Falling Ashes

A/N-Hi. I just want to say ' _thanks_ ' to all of you who stuck around and/or those who just started reading. I fall into rough patches sometimes and well, I'll sort of just end up abandoning things I love and create, such my love for writing. So thank you, everyone.

-MMM

* * *

Cold black coffee diluted at the bottom of Kenny's plastic cup, the ice added had long since melted into the caffeine. The clock above the Tweak Bro.'s entrance read six-thirty in the morning. A rasp present in his voice as he groaned, knowing that sleep would be fallible upon waking up in the middle of the night to a haunting dream of seas of black and voices speaking past mistakes.

So- no. There was no going back to sleep.

He got dressed with the few remaining clean clothes; he would eventually have to ask one of his friends to borrow their washing machines again. He hated asking them for favors and acting as a liability, being the poor friend alone in town.

He had tiptoed passed his sleeping siblings and rushed out the house, toothbrush in his mouth as he made his way to the only coffee place in South Park. He knocked back another sip, the bitter taste still wrestled with the unrelenting freshness of fluoride.

The guy behind the counter fiddled with the big espresso machine, Kenny eyed him with a half stare, mostly looking past him in thought. He wondered what another day of class could possibly do for him, what not just giving up and snagging a job around town would hurt. He would be justified; education wasn't exactly a ticket around town. With a basic knowledge in stepping in shit you could land a position anywhere there.

With a sigh, Kenny let his head drop atop his crossed arms on the bar. He was cold, sober, and tired as fuck. Any thoughts, which there were many that buzzed around his head, was swatted like a fly for any wink of sleep in exchange.

His conversation with Craig, he blamed Clyde for it occurring in the first place. He wish he didn't know his feelings for his friend, wished he didn't know about him giving him the tattoo, and especially wished this growing sick in his stomach would dissipate. Was it guilt-what for?

It's not like he gave any thought or consideration that Craig's fling with Stan might've developed into something more, it was Craig Tucker. Through out their younger years they had moments, glimpses of a potential friendship being he and the bitter teen. Stan never liked him, so what was different now? Was it really just a fleeting moment of giving a shit?

Kenny rose from his place at the espresso bar with cup in hand, turning to trench out the front doors of the café. The cold air of the morning stung his nose, the cold coffee going numb in his grasp. The days had gotten colder, he had acknowledged. The week's days bared more senseless bouts of crowding thoughts and awkward passing between classes.

The sidewalk beneath his boots was frozen; snowflakes descending like faintly falling ashes. He noticed the silence outside, the breeze no longer whistling and the sky showed no blue. Winter had completely consumed the mountain town.

Kenny grimaced at another passing thought of regret, and he poured out the rest of his drink onto the concrete. A small smirk grew on his lips; the only solace found was the thought of some asshole later that day slipping on the freezing beverage as he walked away.

* * *

The day came to Craig in a reverie of stirring blurs, static and other noise, taste was a abrasive concept and the only thing residing in mind were a toothbrush, a cup of water, and two Tylenol. His pillow stuck to his face with drool, red lines of the wrinkles of fabric tattooed to his cheeks and neck.

His phone sat besides his head, blinking away the sandman's bullshit as he took the device his grasp. He clicked the home button and was greeted with the time and date, the brightness causing him to squint. It was the early morning of the day he would have to return to hell, surrounded by his alienated demons that took him for ill. His trenches leading to his usual stomping grounds, forced interactions and elbow brushes with jocks and Hebrews.

With a grunt, he turned to sit up to see his pants only half down his legs and socks kicked to the edge of his bed. Craig laughed at his past self, a heap of depressed teen crawling into bed like a child. It was easy to laugh at it then, wrapped in the morning aftermath of his mopping period. Tweek helped, he figured. He always did, assumed it had been a traumatic case of irony. So many months ago it had been the other way around.

The TV played some random early morning baby's cartoon as he trudge across the floor to his dresser and fetched new pants. A fresh t-shirt and jeans, and a layer of deodorant later, Craig dragged his feet to the bathroom and dug into the medicine cabinet for any pain relievers. Finding a big can of Advil, he popped the lid and dry swallowed two before turning on the sink and splashing water in his face.

His hair stuck out on beneath his hat, a mass of spikey matted strands now wet and clung to his forehead. He brushed his teeth and stared at his reflection. He wasn't hung over, he hadn't drank that much. Only the headache seemed like it, and the mess of his stomach would beg to differ.

The journey down stairs was met with little voices, accepting that his parents had already gone and his sister already in school. He managed a sigh and pulled out his phone. It was ten minutes to the first class starting, and even if he managed a ride he'd be late. And that didn't necessarily bother him. Just the person whose name he scrolled to and clicked to call.

Two rings later-

"Craig? Where the hell are you?"

"This was a mistake," Craig grumbled into the phone.

"Where are you," Token repeated. "I just got to school."

"Look, just ditch and come get me."

"Oh, I'll get you. I'll pick you up and make you tell me what's going on. Man, you had Clyde on like some sort of manhunt the past couple of days. He's been on Kenny's case-"

"You're kidding," Craig disbelieved, glared at the wall. "You're actually kidding. What the fuck, why didn't you stop him?"

"You know how he gets when it comes to you man," Craig could hear Token's car start up in the back ground, "I can't say I wasn't too thrilled when the idea of you locking yourself away again."

Craig fell silent, dropping his gaze to the floor and leaning against the wall. "It wasn't like that…" His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Uh huh," Token verbally rolled his eyes, "Bet you sat in your room locked in your fucking head like some basket case, drinking and smoking."

"Stop being my fucking dad, dude," Craig snapped, pulling his backpack over his shoulder. "It doesn't make me feel good, okay? I'm sorry, I guess. Is that what you want to here, Toke?"

Token took a breath, readjusting the grip on his steering wheel. "Everybody needs somebody to talk to Craig," he reasoned, "It's important to have people in your life that give a shit. Me and Clyde give a shit, Tweek gives a shit, your family-"

"Alright, alright," Craig snapped, "I get it. Where are you?"

"-Gives a shit," Token stopped, "I'm outside."

Craig hung up, storming out of his house and door slamming behind him spotting the mustang out front. He walked over and made his way to the passenger side, yanking the door open and climbing inside.

Upon shutting the door and pulling on the seat belt, Token stuck out a hand to stop him. This action was met with a narrowed blues staring into dark chocolate browns, a moment passed before Craig sighed and Token spoke. "Would you slow down and listen to me?"

"What is it now," Craig groaned, his voice dry and tired.

Token laid the hand down on his friend's shoulder. "I got you, Craig. You're pissed off, you're upset, and worse than that you're most likely heartbroken."

Craig sat silently, lips shut tight and arms now crossed. Token sighed before continuing. "But-what you are letting yourself fall into isn't healthy, it isn't good for you with everything going on. Clyde and I, you know if you're pissed off or fucked up, you can always come to us." He said this is a calm low voice, his eyes piercing Tucker.

"I'm not going to tell you that Stan Marsh isn't worth starving yourself for," Token added, "I can't, because knowing your feelings is different from understanding them, but I'll be damned if I have to wake up at three in the morning thinking my friend just died. Again."

The last word caught Craig off guard, causing him to look off out the window. "You know I'd kick his ass."

He turned to the dark skinned teen, "If you wanted me to, me and Clyde shit. Okay?"

After taking in a deep breath, Craig nodded slowly.

Token's hand lingered on his shoulder, squeezing before turning down the street he came down. Craig's eyes softened and focused on the passing houses, his mind drained and stomach empty. "Can we stop at Tweek Bro.'s?"

Token smiled, "Sure."

* * *

The day went by in a flash for Stan, which he never thought would ever happen again.

With Kyle and Kenny by his side most of the day, things seemed they were finally at peace for once. Only deep down he knew they weren't. The day had hit bumps-lunch especially. He only saw Kenny for a few minutes at lunch, and then he managed a silent getaway upon Craig Tucker entering the cafeteria with Token and Clyde at his sides.

Stan recalled something about Craig changed, to which he eyed the ravenette with the slightest hint of concern. He spotted his skin tone almost a tint paler, his eyes dawning bags beneath them and his moments more sluggish than usual. After a while of staring he watched him chance a glance in his direction. Stan could see life flashing in his face briefly, before turning back to Clyde and Token without missing a beat in the conversation.

Before than, in the class they had together, Craig chosen to sit in the back furthest spot from Stan and Kenny. When he commented on it to Kenny, he just shrugged and droned at his desk. It hadn't stopped there, seeing as how after class Kenny stayed behind as Craig got up and was the first one out.

Later, as he and Kenny exited their final period he glanced at his friend. Passing students chatting around them as Kenny focused straight ahead, his hands tucked into his pockets and walking without a single word in the past hour. Stan sighed, stopping mid step and tripping up a few students behind him.

Over the silent curses under their breath, he waited for Kenny to turn around. Ken raised an eyebrow, the jock cross his arms wrapped in his letterman with his book bag shifting its weight on his back.

"What?" Kenny asked, turning to look around.

"Something's wrong," Stan stated, "and I'm done."

Kenny took a step towards him; students brushing passed them on either side. "Stan, if this is about me being a little sleepy today-"

"You two fought," Stan finished. Kenny flinched. "That's what I thought. Ken, why didn't you tell me-"

"Because why do you need to know everything," Kenny glared, "Just because you feel like you owe something to the guy."

"I don't _owe_ anyone anything," Stan snapped back. "But when he won't even look at me, and you won't say anything, I have reason to believe something's up. So what was it?"

Kenny's shoulder's slumped, dropping his head. "I told you, I couldn't."

"Oh, you can tell me something." Stan said, crossing his arms with a furrowed brow. "As a matter of fact, say if it was about _Kyle_."

"It wasn't." Kenny sighed, "Why would it be-"

"There we go, now say it was just some normal fight between you two."

"Stan, fucking stop-"

"What was it, Kenny?!"

"You said you'd drop it!"

"Say it had nothing to do with _me_!"

" _Don't!_ "

" _SAY IT!"_

" _It_ -"

" _Stan_!"

Both stood a mere foot away from each other, Stan's bag now on the ground and Kenny's fists out and rose. Stan's own name echoed off the lockers as the hallways were then mostly clear of students save for the two-and Kyle standing at the end of the hall.

"What's going on?" The Jew asked, rushing over to stand besides the two. Kenny glared at the teen before him, mutual best friends standing in a an empty hall. His fist shook, a mental picture of it colliding with the side of Marsh's thick skull and shaking the thought of his bout with Tucker in a flash of white.

Both fists however fell, limp to his sides before shoving into his coat pockets and turning away from the two. "Fuck this."

Stan's eyes sharpened, taking a step in Kenny's path. "No! Don't fucking walk away from me! Where are you going?!"

Kyle stepped between the two, "Stan, stop! Let him go!"

"Kyle-move!" Stan growled through barred teeth, looking past his boyfriend.

"No! You're not thinking right now and you need to," He tried to reason, hand to Stan's shoulders. "Let this go, please. Just for right now."

Stan's eyes focused on Kenny's orange parka headed away from them, turning the corner down the hall an disappearing. His shoulders fell and his expression fell, reaching up to bring a hand to his face.

Kyle brought him in and wrapped his arms around his neck, turning back to where Kenny walked away. Letting out a sigh, burying his face into Stan's letterman.


	12. 12 Beyond The Embarrassing Style Oh!

Stan cursed the bathroom sink. An odd statement, yeah. He thought so too.

Eyeing the porcelain appliance and with his hands gripping its sides he grumbled swears for it simply being there. And it was, there. It had been when Kyle's family bought the house years before, it had been through their shared child hood, and it remained when he woke up this morning. The sink had not moved in inch in almost sixteen years.

The sink, he thought bitterly, had at least the image of loyalty. It did its job; it allowed gallons of water, soap, saliva, and toothpaste to be washed down through its piping, the coping rusted and dust ridden. Yet, it remains. It never kept secrets-it couldn't. The sink held no secrets or ever walked away from him because it was a _goddamn sink_.

Stan quietly apologized to the sink before leaving the bathroom, disgusted with himself and chalking up another one for a future therapy session.

He walked down the short hallway to the bedroom and entered, shutting the door behind him. It creaked when he fell back against it, combing fingers through his hair as wavering thoughts of sudden lost of sanity plagued him.

Through his fingers he peered at the sight before him on the bed, the cutest red head, self-immersed in his phone cross-legged laid out on his bed. Hat thrown to the side and thumbs tapping away, he glanced up to see Stan eyeing him from the doorway.

"Well?" He had said, the words having to set into Stan's mind for the weight to follow. He groaned, moving towards the bed and sitting at the end to meet his gaze with the floor, something he had gotten use to. "Have you decided?"

"I don't get it," Stan grumbled.

Kyle shook his head, eyes on his foot as he used a foot to poke his boyfriend's side. "I don't either, he seemed really upset."

Stan turned to Kyle, grabbing his legs and placing them in his lap so that he could sit further back against the wall. "It's like if it made you that upset, maybe I could've helped. He lets Craig get under his skin so easily."

Kyle sighed. "I mean it is Kenny and Craig Tucker we're talking about." He sat up and scooted closer to almost be in Stan's lap. "They've always been at each others' throats. Maybe this is just another step up on them hating each other."

Stan shook his head. "It was never like this, when we…" He stopped, scratching his arm. "When we were close, Kenny would still be there. They would hardly talk, but they never fought or really anything. So why now?"

"Kenny's very protective," Kyle, pondered, "Maybe Craig said something about us."

"I figured that. It was the only hint I got out of him before you broke us up," Stan turned to him with a smile, "Thanks for that, by the way."

Kyle smiled back, laying his hand on Stan's shoulder. "Of course…I don't like what's happening around us, it's been happening since after the party what with Wendy and Craig, now Clyde and Kenny."

Stan turned to the ceiling. "Maybe the universe it trying to tell us something." He waited before receiving a punch to the shoulder, laughing. " _Ow!_ I'm kidding!"

Kyle crossed his arms, glaring. "Maybe instead of pouting at my house you should be patching things up with Kenny."

"Why should I have to go fix shit?" Stan groaned. "All I've done is try to look out for my friends again, and I turn into the asshole."

"You're not an asshole, Stan." Kyle reasoned. "Just go to Kenny's and if he's there, talk to him."

"And try not to piss him off," Stan added.

"Yes," Kyle rolled his eyes. "And if he's not, call Craig."

Stan stared, wide eyed. "Why call him?"

"Because whatever he did, and if you can trust him, ask him what happened." Kyle finished, his eyes softening. "If it is about us, I don't think I'd want to know."

"Then I'd rather not talk to him," Stan explained, absently drumming on Kyle's legs. "It's still too soon I feel to talk, ya know? Seeing how the last time…"

He turned to Kyle, this time the red head had turned away from him. His arms wrapped around himself, he attempted to pull his legs away from Stan before he felt them being pulled and ended wrapped in Stan's arms. He rested his head on the jock's shoulder, closing his eyes and breathing in his scent. He felt Stan's lips graze his neck, tiny pecks along up to his ear.

"I'm sorry," he had whispered, his tattooed hand sliding up the center of his back up into his mass of curls.

"I know," Kyle spoke into his shoulder, "I want to keep you here."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Kyle pulled back, "No," he reached back and grabbed one of Stan's hands and placed it to his chest, his face heating up as he did so. "It's beating really fast."

"Y-Yeah…" Stan mumbled, lost in rhythm.

"It's been doing that for so long," Kyle, whispered, "I figured it was because of you." He let the hand go as it remained on his chest, reaching out to Stan's cheek. After a moment, Kyle spread his legs to wrap them around Stan's waist and pulled him back into the bed.

Stan, now on top of his redhead, fell into a kiss. It began as small and innocent at first before growing in intensity and turned to lust. His hands on either side of Kyle's head, while Kyle's were wrapped around his back. They drank each other in, biting lips and flicking tongues before Stan pulled back to look into Kyle's eyes.

"I want to see it," he panted, instantly watching his friend's face go an even darker shade of red. Kyle looked away from him. "Please, Ky?"

Stan pulled back and stood on his knees, his hands sliding from Kyle's shoulders to his chest. They stared at each, an awkward tension filling the room. Kyle could feel the nerves in his stomach, slowly nodding and closing his eyes as Stan gulped.

The blushing Jew's hands shook as they moved to undo the button of his jeans, then taking the zipper in his grasp. Kyle bit his lip as he felt the teen above him tug on the sides of his pants and begin to pull them down. He stopped at the knees, hearing a hitch in Stan's breath he opened his eyes and blushed.

Stan eyed the heart on his thigh, the reddish rash and sting skin had since mostly healed yet the flesh was still sensitive. With a shaking hand, Stan moved his own heart over Kyle's, touching his hand to the ink. Doing this, Kyle elected a small noise in his throat. The two locked eyes again, both glowing a tomato red in the face as the front of Kyle's boxers rose.

In that instant, Kyle sat up to grab the waistline of his jeans and pull them up to be stopped by another set of hands. Stan's lips crashed into his own, freezing him in his momentum. The stronger teen's hands pulled on the jeans further, Kyle groaning as they were yanked off and thrown to the side. Stan can back down to kiss the red head, his tongue further exploring his mouth as Kyle's hips involuntarily bucked against his own.

The friction drove him insane, hand pulling on the hem of Stan's t-shirt and moving from his lips to eagerly bite and kiss along his jaw line. His hands soon dove beneath the jock's shirt to feel along his abs and chest. Stan sighed from the touch, grinding into the Jews hips even more, gripping the sheets beneath them.

The feeling of Kyle's lips and hands drove Stan up the walls in his head, his hands reaching beneath Kyle's own top and explored the bare pale skin beneath. The two panted each other's name, Kyle tugging at the belt around Stan's waist and undoing the button and zipper.

"K-Kyle-"

"Shhh," Kyle hissed, leaning up to capture his lover's lips once more as he tugged the hem of the article of clothing getting in his damned way the blue pair of briefs beneath. "I need you-"

"I-I knows, but-Ah!"

Stan bent down to lay his head on Kyle's shoulder as Kyle touched the front of his briefs. He pulled away and sat above the red-faced teen beneath him, both breathing quick and sweaty.

The sweaty sweet taste of each other on their lips, eyes never leaving the others until Stan got up to sit at the edge of the bed. "We should stop."

"Oh…" Kyle reached out, only to let it fall to the bed as Stan stood and grabbed for his belt. "So, you off to Kenny's?"

"I guess so," Stan said, breathing a heavy sigh as he approached the bedroom door and turned back to Kyle. "I'm sorry…it's just-"

"You don't have to say it," Kyle said from the bed, sitting up and pulling his pillow into his lap, "I understand. Tell Kenny I said 'hi'."

"I'm sorry," Stan, repeating before slipping out the bedroom, skipping steps to the front door and retreating from Kyle's home. Kyle sat in his bed pants-less and alone. He turned to eye the pillow beneath him, shimmering greens hiding behind eyelids as he buried his face into the pillowcase.

* * *

"So..." Token, scratched the back of his head eyeing Clyde. The brunette sat beside him with crossed arms glaring at the boy who sat across them. "How's the eye?"

Kenny sat at the table holding a bag of peas to his eye and glared at a fizzing cup of diet coke. He looked up to stare daggers at the two, drumming fingers at the each of the table.

"I suppose I'm sorry," Clyde remarked, "for punching you, I guess."

"You guess, Clyde?" Token said.

"Are you really surprised I hit him?"

Token to Kenny, "He shows up to talk to us, admittedly out of character, and you punch him in the fucking face."

The dirty blonde snorted, hissing to the bag of peas. "In his defense, Clyde's always hit like a bitch."

Clyde slammed his hands on the table, shaking the cups on its surface. "Fuck you!"

"What are you going to do-hit me _again_? Don't think I won't pay you back in full now, Donavon."

"Knock it off-both of you!" Token snapped, "I'm sick of this shit. Kenny, honestly what do you want?"

Kenny sighed, dropping his gaze to the table. "I came to apologize," he said, "Believe it or not, I've been thinking about everything the past couple of days and have lost sleep because of it. I think it's given me cancer."

"Or a conscious," Token remarked.

"Bullshit, Ken! Why the fuck would you be sorry?" Clyde growled, Token beside him rolling his eyes.

"Fuck sakes, man!" Kenny held his nose, "I've had a bad time with this shit, I regret ever being involved with any of it."

Clyde eyed him down, Token stepping off the porch to meet the two. "Come on, Clyde. We should hear him out."

"If I'm lying, then you can just fucking kill me," Kenny glared back at Clyde, "Nothing really matters in that scenario if you won't listen anyway."

The brown haired teen shoved his fists into his pockets; eyes narrowed as Kenny stood to his feet and dusted off the snow from his clothes. "Whatever, for Craig."

"Is it hard to believe that I actually felt bad? There was a point you know that we were friends." Kenny remarked, "I mean, we never on the greatest of terms, but we were cool."

This earned a snort from Clyde, "Expect for Craig and Stan, now look what happened."

Kenny shut his eyes, "Yup. Shit's never been normal here."

"Here's what I don't get," Token pondered, "Why the tattoos?"

Kenny shot a quick glance to Clyde, turning away, "The fuck, Clyde?"

"Do you even remember who was at the party?" Clyde shot back.

Kenny shrugged, "I don't even remember the party anymore, I just know that Kyle and Stan are somewhat together, Craig's pissed and depressed, and I'm going to attempt to fix it," he held up his hands to make quotation marks with his fingers.

"How do you even expect to do that?"

"The reason I came here-" Kenny said, "Where's Craig?"

"Probably his house, but," Token crossed his arms, "I don't think that's a good idea, man. He seemed pretty crossed about everything."

"Well he'll just have to deal." Kenny grimaced, rolling his tongue in his mouth.

* * *

His fingers danced atop the steering wheel, Stan fidgeted in his seat as night fell and soon did snow follow. His stomach acid crashed like waves against his lining, nerves and hormones clashed with his never ending nervous tick of purging on image of his moment shared with Kyle still very fresh in the forefront of his mind.

His teeth grinding behind burning cheeks, he eyed the road before him fighting the image of that stupid jew laying in front of his with his ablaze with flooding desire. Saving them both from an embarrassing incident, he ejected himself from the scene without an explanation and hot under the collar.

Stan lightly thudded against the head of the driver's seat. The silence having proved to be impossible to sit through, he turned to his radio and turned the dial to be greeted back clicking static.

Clearing his throat, he settled on a station playing old rock songs from the eighties. Odd computer clicks followed by the beginning acoustic guitar riff rang in. Stan sung along with the beginning lines as he drove, his fingers drumming atop the wheel as the light outside of Kenny's home bright beneath the cover of the nightfall.

His truck hit the tracks before Kenny's and he parked, just barely spotting the shack through the snow. The single lamp outside flickered-alone stood a silhouette. Stan squinted through the windshield, the figure swayed back and forth and held a bottle in his grasp. He bit his lip, heart sinking in his chest as he quickly undid the seatbelt and hopped out the driver side.

 _Please don't let it be._

His headlights just dimly making out the blue hoodie and hat he wore. In his grasp was a half empty bottle of liquor, a cigarette between his lips as he turned to greet Stan with half lidded eyes lighting up.

The song blared from the open driver's side door; Stan only stood there eyeing up the teen in the middle of the snow alone and watched him back. It was Craig, showing up like a mirage in the desert. He took a step forward to completely face Stan; he appeared drunk. But why was he outside Kenny's?

"Craig!" Stan ran to meet with the teen; standing with his weight on one leg he held the bottle up to stop the oncoming jock. "What are you doing here? You'll fucking freeze to de-"

"Fuck off," Craig slurred, turning away again, "fuck off and die."

Stan flinched at the words, "What are you talking about?"

"Why are you doing this," the cigarette fell from his lips and into the snow between them, melting as it descended to the dirt. "What do you owe _Kyle_ so fucking much when _we_ were just fine?"

With a shocked expression, Stan cocked his head to the side. The teen before him took two steps forward so that he was aligned with the larger boy's chest. "You fucking fuck with me and shit, then go get tatted by that asshole McCormick, and he did it to get you away from me."

"Craig…" Stan had almost pleaded, laying his hands on the ravenette's shoulders. "You're drunk, you fucking idiot. Come on."

As Stan attempted to pull Craig to the car, he was pulled back into Tuckers arms, feeling him wrap his arms around him tight and nearly falling over. "I feel like shit."

Stan stood there; his arms limp over Craig's shoulders looking down at him with concern. "Why? I thought we were okay with this…is this about Kenny? What happened between you two?"

Craig went silent, his knees shaking in the cold as he held onto Stan for his life. He turned his head to look up, his eyes staring up into Stan's. "I love you."

And Craig puked on Stan before blacking out in his arms.

* * *

A/N: I'm having fun, how about you?

-MMM


	13. 13 Where Your Heartache Exists

The droning vibrations against Craig's cheek brought him back from the dead. His eyes opening to blurred dark and an outside source of light haloing falling snow, he coughed into his sleeve and found he was in someone's truck. He groaned at the aching in his head as well as the stirring in his gut.

"Glad to see you're awake."

A too familiar voiced called to him. With fright he turned and frowned at Stan Marsh behind the wheel. The teen leaned back in his seat and stared out the window away from Tucker. Craig could just make out the fallen curve of his lips; fingers threaded together and body motions like a disappointed parent.

"What am I doing here?" Craig asked, taking in their surroundings; they were parked at the edge of Stark Pond. Pieces of the moon gleamed off the surface of the ice with the headlights.

Stan shrugged, "You tell me."

Craig turned back to Stan with narrowed eyes, " _You_ brought me here."

"Because I didn't know where else to go."

Craig huffed, staring back out the window before notice a sour smell from the back of the truck. "What's that smell?"

"The cookies you tossed," Stan shot a thumb to the back seat. "All over my good jacket. Thanks, by the way."

Craig slummed in his seat, Stan turning over to stare out the windshield and into the sky. "Craig, I nearly had a fucking panic attack twice tonight. Want to know why?"

"Did you find a pimple?" Craig said, sarcastically. "Cut from the team?"

Stan smirked, shaking his head as he raked his fingers through his hair and removing his hat. "No. Firstly, I got scared mid foreplay with Kyle. And ran away."

"S-Seriously?" Craig choked on his words, subconsciously gripping the ends of his hoodie. "Heh, wow. Where'd all that bravado go?"

"Never had any." Stan said, "And you don't have to pretend to care or fake interest."

"I don't know what you're talking about, _Marsh_." Craig replied with a glare.

Stan chuckled, "You're not as subtle as you think, _Tucker_ …" He paused, leaning forward to cross his arms over the steering wheel and laying his head sideways to watch Craig.

Craig went silent, tucking a leg under him and toying with a pack of cigarettes he pulled out of his pockets. Stan sighed. "You had to have been pretty wasted to not notice the cold, or where you even were, but something tells me you were there for a specific reason."

" _Specific reason_ ," Craig echoed absently. "Your attempt at coyness is retarded, Stan. If you want information from me, just ask out right."

Stan eyed the teen; his eyes were glossy and his cheeks a rosy pink, his fingers twitched and shivered against the shiny plastic around the fresh pack in his grasp. His eyes failed to meet Stan's own, bringing him to frown again, a small part of him missing them in a way. The way they flickered in his own in the conversations they'd had, the way they dimmed when he hid behind a wall of dry fuck offs and his dumb cute hat.

Craig took a glance at the jock staring at him and glared, throwing the pack at the floor. "I hate that look."

"What look?" Stan asked.

"It's the same look you give when you think you have the upper hand," Craig spat crossing his arms. "Why the look, Marsh? What are you thinking about?"

"Craig, knock it off." Stan sighed, "I just spent the past hour thinking I'd have to drive you to the hospital if you didn't wake up-"

"If you had that thought at all, you should've taken me anyway!  
Craig chastised, " _Please_. You of all people in this town should know the signs of alcohol poisoning-"

"There you fucking go again!" Stan snapped into an upright position, staring down the ravenette, "You don't give a fuck about that-you're deflecting!"

"Deflecting off what?" Craig snapped back, leaning over the center console. "You asked me why I was at Kenny's! I heard you! I'm not deaf!"

Stan leaned over, glaring then. "Then answer the goddamn question!"

"I don't want to!" Craig huffed, "Why were _you_ at Kenny's?"

"Because I was going to make up," Stan breathed to calm down, not knowing why the Tucker boy got him so easily worked up. "We almost fought today."

Craig crossed his arms once more, turning his body so that his wet boots pressed against the center console. "So?"

"So." Stan continued, "Seeing as you two hate each other, I find it somewhat odd to find you drunk outside his house."

Craig turned his attention to the windshield. "We don't hate each other." He said, "We just have some major disagreements we can't work out."

Stan furrowed his brow. "Like?"

"Who deserves to be kicked in the face?" Craig said flatly. "And some other shit."

"Was there a 'some other shit' disagreement a few days ago?" Stan asked. He watched as Craig's shoulder slumped and sighed dropping his head. "Craig."

" _What?_ " Craig whined at his name falling from those lips, "You've got so many fucking questions and I've got a disgusting taste in my mouth and I'm cold and-"

In a split second, Stan pulled off his jacket and almost threw it at Craig. Craig sat shocked for a couple of seconds and eyed the thick fabric before taking it. The brown material reeked of Stan, bringing a blush to his cheeks as he slipped his arms into the sleeves and settled into its embrace. His eyes slid closed and a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

Stan stared, tapping the console. "Good?"

Craig presumed his dry stare and shrugged. "I guess this will do. And before you inevitably interrupt me telling you the truth, I will not explain anything further past that." His eyes narrowed at Stan. "Nothing, and I mean it, nothing leaves this truck."

Stan nodded, eyes never leaving Craig's. "Because…it's not like I can't talk to you about shit…but there are things that I still don't think I can bring up with you and-"

"Craig." Stan said, ceasing the rambling. "I get it. I'm just…I want to have all my friends around again. And that includes you now."

Craig shrank back into the jacket, clinging onto the collar. "Alright, sappy." He closed his eyes, hearing Stan shift to a more comfortable position in his own seat. "I guess I started it, I just wanted to talk to him about me hanging out with you guys and we kind of just got on each others nerves until I left."

Stan listened, leaning back against the car door as Craig continued. "I stormed off because fuck him, he's a dick blah-blah-blah. I get to my locker and he comes over shouting and shit."

"Then he fucking holds a fist to me and…" Craig paused, cracking his knuckles. "Look, I don't want to talk about this. It's not-it doesn't," he tried, breaking eye contact, "he found something out that he wasn't supposed to and maybe it wasn't very well hidden anyway and maybe if I wasn't such a fucking mess I'd be more careful with what I say-"

"Craig." Stan said.

"-And I can't anymore! I'm broken, like I can't talk like I want to and I'm always moody now. It's-It's…"

Stan frowned; the teen in front of him shrunk further into the jacket and it seemed to only make it harder for him to speak. With cautious movement, he gripped the console and flipped it back revealing the third seat. He flicked at Craig's boots to get his attention, watching blue shimmering eyes from beneath the coat watch him point to the spot.

"Stan, I can't." Craig's voice was uneven and low.

"Craig, come here." Stan pled, reaching a hand out.

Craig shook his head, leaning back against the door. He flinched when Stan gripped at one of his ankles, again when he was gently pulled towards him not so against his will. He soon sat besides the jock; he could feel Stan's heat at his hip and again when an arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"I hate you."

Stan stared out at the pond, words bouncing off his ears meaning nothing. He ignored them because they meant nothing, and he knew that. They meant the opposite, the extreme in fact. The slurred bitter words bounced off the walls of his mind for the duration of Craig's unconsciousness. He had carried the boy into his car without a second thought, removing his old black jacket stained with stomach bile and replacing it with the one now wrapped around Craig before coming the pond.

He couldn't think properly, all thoughts dying off and diving off into the unknown darkness. It was late at night and he hadn't even messaged Kyle about his whereabouts, something he had gotten into the habit of doing more and more of late.

Stan shook his head, remembering who's company he shared he cleared his throat and spoke. "Why?"

"Why," Craig said, "I don't need a reason anymore."

"You don't hate me." Stan said simply.

"I do." Craig said.

"No you don't."

Craig grit his teeth at the moment they were having. "You think I'm an asshole fine, and you may hate my face sometimes, but you don't hate me."

"Hmph." Craig would not admit, but beneath the jacket he pouted.

Stan chuckled. "I used to hate you."

"We both hated each other," Craig said, "The seven of us."

"Me, Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman-"

"Token, Me, and Clyde."

Stan sighed, "Can I ask-"

"No."

Stan went silent, Craig fidgeting against him.

"…How is he?"

Stan wasn't surprised by the silence that followed. His arm draped across Craig's back with him sitting straight up, only for him to then fall gently against Stan's side, the arm wrapping tighter around him.

"He's fine." Craig said silently. "Getting better…still blames himself."

Stan nodded. "Do you?" He asked.

Craig shook against the jock, his hands wrapped around his shoulders. "Sometimes. Sometimes I sit at home and wish I'd been there…how easily he could've stayed here with us, how I could've-"

"It's not your fault, Craig." Stan silenced the boy, patting his shoulder. "I understand the feeling though…there's so much I blame myself for, and I still do, but at the same time I have to remind myself that bad things just happen sometimes. Bad things, good people. Good things, bad times."

"Bad times," Craig echoed. "I'm starting to regret being your therapist."

Stan smirked, "Because it's working against you now?"

Craig groaned, "Ugh, no."

"Then why?" Stan poked at the teen in his arm. He looked down to see Craig looking up at him, freezing him in place.

"Because I want to lay down now."

Stan searched Tucker's eyes for a moment, before turning to grab the lever at the chair's side and pulling. His seat laid back and they both moved to share the small space, Craig almost on top of Stan at the abdomen but the larger teen wrapping his arm completely around him.

They stayed like that in silence. The radio softly played old rock and roll songs occasionally broken up by waves of static in the wind. Snow had begun to pile atop the hood of the truck, as well as the back.

"I hate you," Craig repeated, a free hand poking at Stan's stomach.

Stan stared at the roof and pondered over the words. "What do you mean when you say that?"

Craig shrugged against the boy. "That I hate you?"

"But you clearly don't"

"Of course I don't."

Stan sat up briefly only for Craig to shove him back down and to stay at his side. "Then why say it?"

Craig sighed; his hand laid flat on Stan's abs. "I'm not allowed to say what I want to."

Stan furrowed his brow, anxiety then creeping into his chest. "You're not allowed?"

Craig rolled his eyes, scooting up to lay his head down on the jock's chest. "Stan, if you ask one more question I'm going to leave cig burns on you while you sleep." He paused, closing his eyes. "You have to think about Kyle, and in turn so do I, making what I'd like to say invalid and unwanted."

Invalid. _Unwanted_.

Stan shifted in his position, turning onto his side and pulling Craig up to meet his eyes at the same level. They lay almost chest-to-chest in the small space they had, noses only centimeters apart. Stan's breathe flooded Craig's mind to the point of hypnosis, leaning up to kiss Stan's forehead.

Craig opened his eyes, covering his mouth realizing what he did. Stan only eyed him with interest, Craig looked back with a furrowed brow.

"I'm sor-"

"Don't be." Stan whispered, the jacket was used as a blanket for both of them, Stan's free arm laid over it to keep it in place. "I'm…admittedly very bad at this."

"What do you mean?" Craig whispered, staring into Stan's eyes.

"I know what I want," Stan breathed, "and I know how to get it, but I keep letting myself get distracted or wrapped into other shit. And then I can't get myself out of it without letting whatever I was in crash and burn…and it gets harder and harder every time."

Craig frowned, a hesitant hand reaching out to touch Stan's cheek. "Don't say that. Please. You're all right, everything usually works out in the end. You told me that a while ago- good things, bad times and shit right?"

They eyed each other, breathing in each other's scent and hands gently stroking one another in comfort. Craig's chest and mind were ablaze with the amount of Stan Marsh he was taking in. From the close proximity to the words melting so beautifully in his ears, he fought with all his will to not hold him tight and beg to be so close forever.

Instead he buried himself back into his chest, the heart beneath he gasped at sped so quickly. He bit his lip as a hand slid up between them and pressed itself over the beating heart, Craig indulged in the heat building between them like it was the last he'd know there would be.

"I miss this," Craig found himself saying.

Stan laughed, holding the boy closer. "What is this?"

"I'm trying not to think about it." Craig pained the smile on his face, unsure if it were earned. "I'm stealing it, whatever it is. This moment-this emotion, this warmth…it doesn't belong to me."

Stan went silent. "I shouldn't have said anything that night at Bebe's. I was angry and jealous. I couldn't say that so easily when you approached me about it, but I feel like now will be the last time I'll be able to really get that point across."

"Jealous of what?"

"Don't make me say it, Stan." Craig groaned, clutching the black t-shirt. "The last thing you need is another ego boost from me."

Stan leaned in, whispering into Craig's ear. "If you tell me one last time, I'll tell you a secret."

Craig shivered against Stan, one of his legs swinging over to wrap around him as the warm breath moisturized his eardrum. " _Stan_ ," he internally kicked himself for moaning the name.

Stan chuckled again, "Come on, Craig."

Craig pouted, unabashedly doing so in Stan's view. "Fine. _I was jealous_. I was fucking irritated by how sweetly you treated Kyle when I thought that-"

"We were together?"

Craig sat up, on top of Stan pointing an agitated finger at the smirking face of the jock. "I swear to god, you think interrupting me is so cute because you always know what I'm about to say is so frust- _mmrph_!"

Stan's lips crashed into Craig's, putting the berating words to bed indefinitely and earning a groan in response. Craig crashed down onto Stan, his hands clutching his cheeks as strong arms wrapped around his waist. Stan's tongue prodded his lips wanting entrance, Craig's own stuck out to meet the other with hunger. He had missed the taste of the muscle, the feeling of Stan's lips against his and his hands gripping at his lower back and further so.

He groaned, pulling away with a string of saliva between them as Stan gripped his backside with his large hands. They gazed into each other's eyes, the losing of their shirts burring into obscurity as they kissed and groped each other. A fleeting thought of how naturally it all came to him, Stan groaned when Craig sunk his teeth into his collarbone and left kisses down his chest.

Another thought of the events earlier that night had come and gone with hats and pants. A single jacket held the two boys together rocking in the seat, fog obscuring the scene unfolding before only god. Fucking pervert.

* * *

"Whoa! You see that?"

Kenny looked up and out the passenger side window, over to where Clyde pointed. A truck was parked at the side of Stark's Pond, rocking back and forth.

"Dude, they're totally doing it!" Clyde laughed, holding his gut.

"Fucking gross, Clyde." Token grimaced from behind the wheel. "We aren't parking to spy on somebody fucking."

"Looks like they're really going at it too." Kenny murmured, peering closer at the truck creaking in the darkness through the snow. "Must've been a rough day."

"Whatever," Token speed up away from the car's sight, "Let's get you home, Ken. Then we'll meet up at the football field tomorrow, if that's cool with you."

"Yeah," Kenny half lidded stared into the mirror, "yeah that's alright."


	14. 14 You're Witnessing My Deterioration

Stan Marsh wasn't sure if he was a Stan Marsh person anymore.

A morning person-no. A people person, he guessed. But if anything, he surely wasn't a good kind of person.

He washed his hands several times getting ready that morning. He sat in his truck and adjusted the mirror possibly twenty-three times without even turning the ignition, and when he had he bee lined for the local gas station and picked up an assortment of air fresheners in a feeble attempt to mask the shame in the air. It lingered within the car, the cushions, and burned. It stung his chest and gave his mind hives.

Snow blanketed the town and piled up in the melodramatic bed of his truck and head. He welcomed the cold graciously. It was just enough to cool the heat beneath his collar, but aided the cold in his soles as he neared Kyle's residence.

When he parked he didn't reach for his phone. He didn't take his hands off the steering wheel-ten and two bared no air in his grasp.

He eyed the front door. The seconds between it opening, Kyle emerging from behind it, him joining Stan in the car and Stan breathing again were centuries long in his mind. Kyle's face pearlescent in the snow, flaming locks peaked from beneath his hat and burning hotter than his rosy lips.

The click of a seat belt brought Stan out of his thoughts. His hand ungraciously detached from the steering wheel and fell to the center console where it was gripped in a mitted sleepy hand, follow by the weight and warmth of the other boy meeting his arm.

As they pulled out of the driveway, Stan gulped. Any sort of greeting was swallowed back into his gut in fear of their substance. Any romantic context within them would feel see through. All there was were the growling of the truck, the searing guilt, and the angelic snoring beside him.

Stan chanced a glance at his passenger, greeted by the lush green of Kyle's hat and the orange coat pulled up over his face to sleep. A smile flashed across Stan's lips, yet fraying off and away at another kick guilt had delivered. He hated this. His hand gripped Kyle's tighter to feel better, earning a squeeze back only fanning the flames.

He hated this, so much. He hated himself, felt like a criminal in his own skin, cursing under his breath the entire drive. Stan chose the long way- passing through their neighborhoods and soon the public park, the theater, and then the mall.

As they pulled up to the lot of the school and parked besides an omen of a black mustang, he wished a kinder selfless face to wake the pure soul beside him. He didn't feel he deserved to reflect in the emeralds beneath the flushed fluttering eyelids.

* * *

It was like Stan shape shifted.

He felt invisible within the halls, another body pylon in everyone's way. He stood behind Kyle at his locker and simply stared at the boy rummaging through textbooks, notes and folders. Book back slung over one shoulder his eyes scanned the stitching in the ginger teen's coat along the collar and down the center of his back.

"You've been quiet."

Stan didn't respond. Kyle turned to look at his boyfriend and frowned. He placed the textbook in his grasp back and pulled Stan closer, placing their foreheads together.

"You're not sick…" He pondered, reaching up to touch the jock's cheek. "Did everything go alright with Kenny? I never heard back from you."

"He wasn't home." Stan said. Kyle furrowed his brow. "And my phone died. And I was tired."

"Stan, if you didn't want to talk to him you could've said so. You don't have to lie about it." Kyle sighed, "Guess we can meet with him at lunch."

Stan stood stoic, eyes shut and breathing in Kyle's scent with a hand reaching out to one of the latters'. "Are you okay?"

"I'm tired still." Stan said, nuzzling his forehead against Kyle's. "Don't worry about me, dude."

"Can't help it," Kyle whispered, "I like own you now."

Stan couldn't help but smile at that. He pressed his lips to the Jew's nose and sighed. "You're the best."

Kyle shook his head, smiling. "Stop being cute in public."

"You first."

* * *

"…And so class, just because we're within the bustling holiday season and Christmas is approaching and I certainly know how you're itching to get that break from class," The teacher told the class, "doesn't give you all court blanche to slack in your assignments or my classroom!"

Stan leaned on an arm with eyes glazed over. Amongst his classmates, Kenny sat to his left-out cold since sitting down five minutes late, giving Stan a absent head nod, and slouching over his desk. Yet, not a single sign of Craig Tucker.

Stan guessed he could take that as a blessing from God. Even though, however, he knew even so that punishment would surely be on the horizon.

Lifetimes dragged through him all the way to the bell. The screeching of desks and chairs on the classroom floor seemed distant, them and the bell a blurring of voices and noise as students filed out the door.

"Ugh..." Kenny grumbled from his sleep. "Is it over?"

"Our lives or class?" Stan asked turning to the dirty blonde.

"My, aren't we cheery this morning," Kenny's head rose from his crossed arms. "Missed you too, Dear. Let's never fight in front of the children again."

Stan snorted, standing up and grabbing his bag. "Whatever, man. Where were you last night?"

"Plowing two eighths of the football team." Kenny said casually.

Stan stared, unsure how to respond before Kenny begun to laugh. "Why, did I miss something?"

"No, I was actually coming to apologize." Stan shifted his feet, "I was a dick, again. This whole thing has me irritated and now Craig isn't even here."

"Why- does he need to explain himself?" Kenny walked to the classroom door as Stan followed. "Dude, let that guy fuck himself off into the sunset already. Christ."

"What are you talking about?" Stan asked, glaring then as Kenny shook his head. "He's my friend."

"Oh, is he now?" Kenny smirked, eyes narrowed as he flicked at the strings of his hood. "Fuck-buddy-consoler turned friend? Stan, I'm concerned with the company you choose to keep."

Stan rolled his eyes, shoving Kenny lightly away as they walked. "What is it exactly that you hate about Craig?"

"Fuck Craig," Kenny said.

"That's what I'm talking about." Stan pled, stopping in his tracks behind Kenny. "Why? Why ' _fuck Craig'_?"

Kenny slumped his shoulders, not turning to face Stan though ceasing in his step. "I could ask you the same fucking question."

Stan's face burned. Teeth then clenching hard in a locked jaw, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag as Kenny walked closer. "Yeah, I get it. He was there for you one time out of like a thousand times Wendy yo-yo'd your ass. The scene was prime for a blooming fling-rain and bullshit on your knees and he happened to be sympathetic enough to say ' _Hi, you good?''_ "

"Then you spew your suburban high school sad boy crap to him and buy into this fucked idea of a friendship with someone more fucked in the head than Eric is when it comes to people-and he hates _everybody_." Kenny groaned, Stan listening with a deep grimace.

"Alright, fine. I couldn't really hate him before that. I had nothing against him outside growing up with the prick as we all did, but when he decided to come up and fuck with our pack, our friendship-fuck, Stan! You see he's not here and we're still at each others throats about it."

"I'm not mad at you!" Stan stomped, sighing and lowering his voice. "I'm not, and never really was. I was confused, dude. Yeah, he was there. Had you been there, I wouldn't be fucking you."

"If Kyle was there?" Kenny quipped.

Stan's shoulders slumped to the name, lowering his head. "I know I'm fucking this up, and I told myself I wouldn't…I hate this."

Kenny eyed the jock, rolling his eyes before reaching out a hand and laying on his shoulder. "Stan. You're an idiot."

"What?" Stan's snapped up.

"You're an idiot," Kenny repeated, "You are awful at relationships and worse at handling social fallouts, I've seen it. But, that's why Kyle is so fucking into you."

"What does that mean?" Stan glared.

"You and Kyle are the only two people I know for certain who have beaten the piss and shit out of each other over the years, fallen in and out with each other, and still found a way to cling so tightly together." Kenny explained, "If anyone can read you like a book, hate the style and love the character, it's him. He knows your flawed ass, and no matter how many times you mess up, I'm positive he'd hang around."

Stan stood there, eyes in Kenny's as the teen smirked. "You think so?"

"Pretty much."

The jock turned around, the before mentioned Jew stood there book back in hand smiling.

"Speak of the devil." Kenny laughed. "Can we get along now, please? Fuck everybody, we still need to figure out what to do when Cartman gets back."

Kenny turns to walk off towards the cafeteria leaving the other two behind. Kyle looks at Stan, searching his eyes.

He smiled, "Feel any better?"

Stan gazed back, a smiling fighting onto his lips though his guilt weighing his gut to his knees. Messing up a friendship is one thing, but the more he thought about it he knew why Craig wasn't there. He'd have to thank him, he guessed. Saving the awkward stares and thick air for later.

"Y-Yeah. Let's go grab something to eat."

* * *

A/N-Hey, short update due to school and working. Not sorry because I need money to pay for all this edginess I got on bank loans. -MMM


	15. 15 Nicotines, The Scheme

The scent of lunch past blurred with peppermint gum, the second hand of nicotine and soil topped off with the outdoors's chill, snow and concrete. These combined with the warmth of arms wrapped around him, gentle breezes of breath by his ear, and the sight of the teen above him made Stan finally feel at peace.

He, Kenny, and Kyle retreated outside the gymnasium. An awning above them huddled together as Kenny joked about Cartman's inevitable arrival and his wanting to set up a prank. His words drifted off in obscurity with Stan, staring up at Kyle who listened and laughed along with the dirty blonde. Stan's hands lingered over the Jew's over his chest; they sat on their bags on the ground with Stan laying in Kyle's lap, the latter's legs crossed beneath him and toying with the red ball of fluff on his hat.

Kenny blew smoke out towards the football field a couple yards away. It's lush green poking out beneath the heavy blanket of snow piling on over the past week. Only small bits of snow fell from the sky over them and out over the field, as if the snow globe of their town was finally at rest.

He turned to his bundled friends with a smile teasing his lips clutching a cigarette; reaching up to push stray blonde locks back beneath his hood and to scratch an itch in his scalp. It vanished, a numbed sense replacing it watching Stan reach out to lay a hand on Kyle's cheek. Subconsciously one of his knees jerked unbeknownst to his friends as warm breath and nicotine gusts expelled woven in a sigh.

He shut his eyes in this moment of calm, despite a certain emotion kicking at his side. Like an addiction boiling beneath his skin, his own thoughts ruining the moment for himself.

Their time together was cut at the sound of the bell, Stan groaning at Kyle's coaxing him through sugar free gum to get off of him. His eyes remained shut though a smile spread wide across his lips as Kyle shook him and huff in playful anger, Kenny laughing beside them and poking at Stan.

When they got up to make their way to class, Kenny waved them goodbye and made off on his own. Stan waved a bye after him and followed Kyle to his math class; only with his boyfriend's help the year prior did he make it into the class in the first place.

He sat behind Kyle, resting his arms on the desktop and gazing half lidded into the back of his boyfriend's hat and to soon fall asleep.

* * *

The grass crunched beneath thick rubber soles, two pairs of boots trudging through the empty football field of green behind the school. The day growing only colder with the sun kept back behind an army of cotton white, soil peppered in frost as well as thick clumps of snow.

Token and Clyde walked in silence, each shivering beneath their layers and minds focused on the orange cladded teen the distance. Kenny McCormick stood smug, oblivious to the two approaching. Cigarette in between two gloved fingers untouched by cold as smoked lingered on his lips rosy in the chilling air.

His ice cold blue eyes fell onto Token, who watched him closely as he and Clyde came to a stop before him and stood firm in the grass.

"Couldn't we have met up somewhere warmer?" Clyde whined, "It's like almost below thirty and I can't feel my face."

Kenny chuckled, "I can't feel my face when I'm with you either, Donovan."

"Don't start both of you," Token said, fog expelling with his speech.

"Where's Craig?" Kenny asked, silencing the ember on his cig by pressing it to his tongue. "Thought you'd bring him."

Token cringed slightly at the gesture and shook his head. "He stayed home." He sighed, "At least he told me this time."

Kenny clasped his hands together. "Well shit, man! That kind of negates this whole thing a bit, don't it?"

"You said you had a plan!" Clyde shivered, "Jesus, am I the only one who's cold?"

"No," Toke groaned, "but you are the only one who's bitching about it. Ken, I was thinking-what if this ends up blowing up on our end?"

Kenny cracked his knuckles, eyeing the scuffs and snow caked in his book laces. "It won't."

Token furrowed his brow. "How you figure?"

"Well, there's two ends to this scenario-clearly," Kenny explained, holding up one hand, "On one end we got all our buddies getting along and talking like nothing in the past month or so have mattered-"

"And on the other?" Clyde asked, woefully.

Kenny held up the other hand with a shrug, "The other ends with a bit of a mess to clean up, that only time and possibly God can only clean."

"Dope." Token sarcastically drooped. "Just so you know, I'm not too fucking thrilled with any of this."

"I bet," Kenny quipped.

"No. I'm serious, McCormick." Token took a step forward, "Craig's like a brother to me. He's been through a lot of shit, and knowing you purposely acted against him at all has me tempted to test that never dying rumor floating around you."

Clyde perked up, "Yeah! So you better hope this actually goes well, Kenny!"

"Shut up, Cheddar Clyde." Kenny mocked, turning back to Token. "Don't worry about Tucker. I'm not his best friend…but I do mean it when I say I want to make things right, if Stan says he's a friend then I'll fix this."

There was a moment of silence between him and Token, both staring at each other as Clyde shivered holding himself. A gust blew past them, Kenny's hood blowing back before a gloved hand caught it and pulled it back down, Token caught a quick glimpse of what Kenny always was to him-that one kid in third grade with his hood tied too tight to speak clear and see his face.

A short second later, he nodded his head and licked his lips dried from the air. "Alright, man. So what's the plan?"

"Simple," Kenny sighed, "We got to rock the boat-both of them. Stan, Kyle, and Craig have to be on the same bitter terms for this to really work. We aren't breaking anybody up, but I know for a fucking fact that Stan and Craig still have some shit going on."

Clyde perked up, shivering. "What proves that?"

Kenny furrowed his brow. "Stan doesn't understand that he's the only red truck in town."

"Wait," Token deadpanned, "You got to be fucking kidding me."

"That, and if they're on good terms then that means Craig didn't show up to fuck things up with Kyle."

Token pondered this, "What if we have Kyle confront Craig?"

"That probably won't go so well," Kenny recoiled.

"You don't think Craig could take him?" Clyde asked, flinching when Kenny's eyes snapped to look at him.

"If he lays a hand on the Jew-deals off and I'm lynching him." Kenny said firmly. "Rumor's not about him. Remember that, Donovan."

"You're awfully protected of him," Clyde whispered.

"Excuse me?" Kenny stepped toward him.

"Yeah man," Token said, "I get it that you want to keep your friends happy, but you don't seem to mind friendly fire on Stan's part."

Kenny shifted his eyes between the two, shoving his fists in his pocket. "Don't worry about it, alright? Stan can handle himself when need be, until then he's going to take his lumps like a man."

* * *

A/N-And after a long unseen hiatus, I have returned. Short and setting up, this chapter be. -MMM


	16. 16 Could?

" _Craig…_ "

"I know Tweek. I know-"

" _Craaaaaig…_ "

Craig buried his face into his pillow, groaning in shame as the voice of Tweek sighed over the line. " _How did it get to that, man? You said you weren't drinking_ -"

"Uuuuugh," Craig muffled groans picked up over the line.

" _Listen to m-me, Asshole._ " Tweek grumbled, nervously cracking his knuckles. " _No more. I want you to promise me-_ "

"Tweek, it's not-"

" _ **Promise me!**_ "

Craig flinched, the cracking voice of his best friend stinging his heart and assuredly freaking said friend out. He turned over in bed and sat up, holding the phone with both hands. "Okay, okay! Calm down, Tweekers...please."

He could hear the blond cease his stammering to take deep breaths. "That's right, do your breathing. I'm sorry, dude. I...I just…"

Tweek coughed a few times before speaking. " _You love him_."

Craig frowned, eyes closing shut at their sudden stinging. "I don't want to."

" _You love him so much you're stupid_." Tweek repeated. " _So stupid, you'll drink yourself to death._ "

"I won't drink myself to death." Craig whispered, gripped at his worn in pajama bottoms. "I wouldn't do that."

Tweek huffed. " _I don't want you where I am, Craig. There's no snow, no coffee, no you. I miss you. I miss Craig Tucker. You know who he is right?_ "

Craig fell silent, gripping the phone. "Why can't you be here...I'm fucking pathetic."

" _No you're not,_ " Tweek assured, " _My doctor tells me that our biggest critic is ourselves. That there's always a tiny nagging voice telling us what we are or want is wrong. You're not wrong for loving Stan, Craig. You're not pathetic. You're strong and smart. You're brave, nothing could get past you when we were kids. When I was with you, I wasn't scared of anything_."

Tears brimming his eyelids, Craig sniffed them back and shook his head. " _I want you to tell me something_." Tweek spoke, a hint of nervousness creeping back into his voice.

"What?" Craig whimpered.

Tweek fell silent, scratching at the faded scars over his arms. " _Do you...you don't blame yourself...do you?_ "

Flashes of the scene remained burned in Craig's mind. The flashing lights on the sides of the neighbourhood houses and windows, the countless people standing outside spectating. His vision blurred by the tears of realization, Token Black screaming after him to stop as he rushed past police personnel in attempt to save him. He just saw a half awake boy staring back from a gurney, eyes rolling back as he screamed after him.

Craig's tears fell freely. "I could've stopped you."

" _What I did not your fault at all,_ " Tweek said, " _I was- I was t-t-too...out of it, I was scared. You couldn't stand by me forever. Superman can't be everywhere at once. Don't you ever blame yourself._ "

"I…" Craig coughed. "I promise. I love you, Tweekers. I'm sorry I make you worry all the time, I'm sorry I let myself fall so far into this. I'm-"

" _Stop saying sorry_." Tweek said, sternly. " _People do stupid shit all the time, you've told me that a few times_."

Craig sullenly smiled at that, shaking his head. " _I have to go, I have a group session in a few minutes. Please b-be careful, Asshole_."

"I will," Craig smiled, "See ya."

The line cut. His phone fell from his hands and he was alone once more. His thoughts then clouded by horrid memories. He couldn't take it.

He grabbed his phone again, scrolling through the contacts until he reached the bottom and pressed call.

Ring...ring…

"Craig, man."

"How soon can you get here?"

* * *

Craig sat in his bean bag staring at the ceiling, Token Black sat on his bed half dressed for bed wearing a dark blue winter jacket over a thick sweater, gym sweats and white Air Force 1s. "I have a problem."

Token remained silent, hands clasped together leaning in to give his full attention. "A few problems, most importantly I hate that you get to be right again." He dropped his gaze from the ceiling to make eye contact with Token, half lidded and scowling. "I...him."

Token pursed his lips, nodding in acknowledgment.

"You don't even know what that entails, Prick!" Craig glared from his slumped position.

"Oh I do, but it's cool." Token shrugged. "I didn't get here in under five minutes to push your buttons or tease you, man. I told you a hundred times I'm here for you."

Craig sighed, flicking the teen off earning a chuckle. "Yeah, well. I'm also done drinking."

"Good." Token agreed. "I'll hold you to that."

"Sure," Craig said. "Because odds are if I'm as dumb as I am, I'll need that."

Token leaned back on his elbows and eyed the ceiling. "Can I ask you something?"

"I guess."

Token paused, collecting his thoughts before rising to his feet and moving to crouch before Craig. "Do you hate Kyle so much you'd want to end their relationship?"

"No!" Craig sat up. "Of fucking course not, I'm not that much of an asshole. I'm not like McCormick."

"Oh," Token turned away, "right. Ken."

"Oh?" Craig furrowed his brow. "What does _Oh_ mean?"

"Nothing." Token said quickly. "I just forgot you two weren't cool now."

"We never were," Craig spat. "Especially not now. I'm still kinda pissed you and Clyde got involved."

"We were looking out for you," Token defended. "We wanted to see you and Ken finally make up. You two hated each other for literally nothing up until now, when it's almost like you two are the same asshole split-"

Craig got up to his feet, glaring down at Token. "I am _not_ like him."

Token rose to his feet. "You care about your friends."

"Clyde would starve to death if we weren't there."

Token nodded. "You smoke-too much, I might add."

"That is neither here nor there-"

"You both stop fighting once Kyle is around."

Craig narrowed his eyes. "I don't hate him…"

"Craig, come on." Token pled. "You got to come to some sort of definitive end to this, it's spiraling out of control. You do see that do you?"

Craig sighed, turning away. Token pressed on. "Do you?" Craig closed his eyes walking towards his nightstand. "Look, I'm glad you called. I know how hard it must've been. I'm gonna go."

Token turned and walked to Craig's bedroom door, turning the knob before turning back to his friend watching him leave. "I'll pick you up tomorrow. At least think about what I said? Please?"

Craig sighed once more, but nodded. Token tried a smile then stepped out of the room and shutting the door behind him. Craig stood by his bedside, not sure of what was even happening anymore.

* * *

Ah, here we are. -MMM


	17. 17 Born Again Cartman

In the cold early Saturday morning, a single bus pulled into the station of South Park. Hissing out, blowing smoke out skywards from its exhausts, lowering it's suspension and popped up its doors. From behind them stood a larger in stature young man, cyan colored knit cap over his head and head down as he descended the few steps onto the sidewalk.

"Y'all have a good one now!" The older gentleman behind the wheel shouted as the doors shut behind the young man.

The town of South Park had never looked so beautiful.

The dirt and snow, the stinging cold, the bum camps out by the storage buildings. The distant smell of manure and foliage, not to mention the general boring scenery of the town architecture.

Removing his hat and gazing around him, Eric Cartman was happy to finally be home.

He stood outside the bus station suitcase in twoe, hair neat trimmed, wrapped in a thick red coat similar to that of the one from his childhood, back jeans and snow boots. He to a deep breath to really soak into the fact that he was finally home-far, far away from that horrid learning facility concentration camp his bitch mother shipped him off to.

The smiles, the rainbows. The glossy eyes of the fools who bought into the propaganda the big heads running the camp would stuff down their throats, the stupid borderline pedifile baiting uniforms he would. He remembered the first days and the final hours of him being there, the rest blurred together in a hellish Pollack painting of bunnies, smiles, and the many, many unwanted bear hugs he was given.

Which lead to his escape-recovery. Eric Cartman was reborn-a fresh faced young man, his eyes opened wide to the world brimming with positive qualities and lovely people. No longer did he seek out trouble, thrust his unwarranted hate towards his colleagues, or attempt to alter the faith, fate, or power of the small mountain town.

Yes, the Eric Cartman walking abouts the main streets in a confident stride was of a purer elk. And looked forward to seeing his good friends after what felt like ages prior to his imprisonment-departure.

Why, just as Cartman thought of maybe stopping somewhere to grab a bite after his long bus ride home a poor defenseless bum sitting outside the post office stood up with his hands extended.

"P-Please sir," the unfortunate spoke with a scratchy beard and oversized flannel coat, "spare some change?"

Eric smiled, the clouds above them parting in tears and allowing the sun hiding to shed god rays over the reformed Cartman. He leaned forward, grin spreading across his lips.

"Get a fucking job, you disgusting hippie!" He shouted, scaring the old bum and sent him retreating back towards the bus station. "And you smell like raccoon piss!"

As he disappeared down the block, Cartman took a deep breath and breathed back out into a smile.

"Home sweet home," He grinned.

* * *

Clyde Donovan stirred the sinking mound of whip cream into the hot chocolate, biting his tongue in thought. Craig Tucker sat in lulled with his coffee across from him. His stirring eventually ceased, studying his childhood friend with his thoughts cycling like the whirlpool just beneath the paper rim before him.

The scent of Tweek Bros was a blending of roasting coffee beans and the sweet fresh baked pastries behind the counter. Smooth jazz filled the air, occasionally broken by the grinding of beans or steaming milk at the espresso bar.

"Hey man," Clyde spoke just louder than muttering, "Can I ask you something honestly?"

The teen gave a absent shrug, earning an exhale from Clyde looking for the right words. "What...when, like-" He crossed his arms, turning his stared to the ceiling in a search for what he wanted to say.

Craig knitted his brow, finding light amusement in it. "Can you tell me what you find, like, attractive about him," He said, his eyes falling from above and into the cup then back up to Craig, "like, I get you both have been...intimate, but…"

The sullened Tucker flicked his blues to Donovan's. "What attracts you to Bebe?"

"She's hot," Clyde answered immediately, "She's pretty, and smart and just the best chick in the world-duh! What does that have to do with Marsh though?"

Craig shifted uncomfortably in his seat, peeking over his shoulder and reaching beneath his knit hat to scratch his head. "Promise me you won't laugh. Or act weird."

Taking another sip of his drink, Clyde fixated his gaze in earnest. "Of course, man."

Craig gave a sigh, "Alright well...I believe underneath the thick headedness, the alcoholism, and borderline middle school logic and reasoning," Craig took a deep breath, "Stan is the most caring, kind hearted guy in South Park. And I can't think of another person like him."

Clyde eyed his friend, taking a sip from his hot chocolate while Craig continued. "I should've just been more forward." he sighed, "But now, I have to just let him have his space with Kyle."

Clyde frowned at that. Craig took a sip of his coffee, the steaming black medium roast soothing his taste buds.

Clyde pouted, feet lightly kicking. "I'd kick his ass."

"I know Clyde."

"Like for real," Clyde pressed his index finger atop the table. "Call me-it'll take ten seconds; five to get there, three to crush him, and two to point and laugh."

Craig felt the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Appreciate it, dude."

Clyde smiled, "And don't get me wrong, I was starting to think that you two would actually make an interesting couple."

Craig peered over his cup. "How? Him and Kyle were obviously made to be annoying together."

"Pffft, aw and then you get all pouty!" Clyde snickered. "Okay, Bebe's kinda right. That's adorable."

"Fuck you _and_ Bebe," Craig glared, pulling his coffee cup to his lips and flicking Clyde off.

Clyde pretended to wipe tears from his eyes just as the bell above the front doors rung. His smiled quickly faded, his hand falling to the table before locking eyes with his friend. "Red alert!" He hissed, "Red alert!"

"What are you talking about?" Craig tilted his head as he watched Clyde slump lower in his seat. He turned slightly in his chair and found what Clyde had ment, his stomach falling to his feet. His eyes locked on to a forest ushanka and back of Kyle Broflovski's signature orange coat. He leaned over onto the counter while he read out a list to the barista behind the bar.

"Fuck…" He cursed under his breath, facing away and forcing himself to remain calm. As long as he didn't see him, he had nothing to worry about. Even if he had, it's not as if he would even want to talk. For all he knew, Kyle hated him and would rather anything than a conversation with him of all people.

"Stay calm," he heard Clyde whisper, peeking over the side of the table.

"Get up!" Craig hissed back, turning to the few sitting around them indulged in newspapers. "You're make a fucking scene!"

"And make sure to use almond milk," Kyle said over the bar, "my friend could use less lactose, if you know what I mean."

He turned so that his back as against the counter, nose buried in his texting back and forth between him and Stan. His boyfriend-wow that is weird to say still- and Kenny were waiting outside the Cartman residence in wait of their returning forth-a day Kyle couldn't believe would possibly the highlight in the past week.

 _Crash!_

" _Shit!"_

" _Ugh, it's all over me…"_

Kyle snapped his eyes up to see a table capsized, Craig Tucker helping Clyde Donovan-covered in presumingly hot chocolate-off the floor.

"Geez, sorry man," Clyde grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

Craig shook his head, using a few napkins to wipe off the seats and table top help Clyde. "Why does everything with you end up with you covered in something?"

"Not everything!"

"I swear, if Token and I weren't with you at all times…"

"Uh…"

Craig froze, Clyde staring past him to the jew standing behind them. He held a bundle of paper towels and fighting a smirk. "Need some help?"

Craig stared back, before accepting and turning back to right the table. Onlookers watched as the three wiped off the table and another barista soon joining them in the clean up. After the clean up, Clyde rushed to the restroom in an attempt to clean himself off, leaving Craig and Kyle alone with each other

The raven haired boy pinched the bridge of his nose. Kyle sat beside him holding the remainder of unused paper towels as the barista muttered swears and moped away the rest of the mess.

"Babysitting." Was all Craig said, shaking his head with coffee in twoe. Kyle gave a sigh, eyeing the counter across the room. Neither had said much to each other in the clean up.

Since the only employee on the clock was cleaning up after the hijinks, Kyle sipped his cappuccino in lull of the situation while the other three drinks he had ordered sat written on empty paper cups on the pick up bar.

He chanced a glance in Tucker's direction; Sitting slumped over and completely embarrassed or pissed, Craig looked anywhere but to Kyle. His coal black boots had sprinkles of drying chocolate as well as the light brown splatter on his jeans. Clyde's jacket took most of the spillage and noted the smell still present in the air.

He kicked his feet softly, feeling the still awkward silence eating at him little by little. "So what have you been up to?" He offered to the quiet Craig, not out of curiosity but to chip away at the icy wall between them given recent events. "Haven't really seen you around at school, I mean. Been sick?"

Craig dropped his hand from his face, a look of ambiguity still meeting the floor. "Y-Yeah. Been feeling a cold or something."

"Ah," Kyle replied, nodding into his cup. Seconds passed, Craig fidgeting and Clyde still in the restroom. "I want to say something."

Oh no.

Craig then glared at the floor, unresponsive.

Kyle bit his tongue, tasting the espresso still fresh on his taste buds. "I want to try and understand things. I get with this kind of thing it's not really a clear view-what I'm trying to say his," he turned in his seat. "We never hung out before Stan and you got close, and I opted out of every opportunity because I just..."

Craig eyed the jew, furrowed brow and lips parted.

"I was jealous," Kyle forced a chuckle, "and I guess part of me now sees that." He bit his lip, looking right at Craig, "What I'm saying is that I'd like us to be friends."

"...What?" Said a small surprised voice secreeting from the boy beside him.

"I mean, seeing as how we both in some way care for Stan right?"

Craig's head was starting to hurt, the barista having moved on to Kyle's order. "Wait...so you're not mad at me?"

Kyle smiled again, another laugh falling from his lips. "I guess a little bit? I think it's because I'm also kind of mad at myself. It could have easily been you, you know?"

Kyle's smile faltered slightly, fingers clutching the coffee cup tighter. "He almost swears by you with Kenny and I," he told Tucker, "You were there for him and that kept him happy, which does still mean a lot to him. In extension, that means a lot to me too."

"I mean," Craig scratched his ear, "We both kinda kept each other afloat for awhile. I wasn't in the best space of mind for awhile, to be honest."

Kyle listened, biting the inside of his cheeks while Craig searched the boards beneath them for words. "Despite how much they're there, Token and Clyde can't meet me on that level of self loathing, or completely pull me out of it sometimes." He glanced to Kyle, "If that makes sense."

"No, it does." Kyle smiled, toying with the cup in his hands. "Stan unfortunately knows how that is. His drinking a reoccuring side effect."

"I tried to stop him once," Craig murmured. "From drinking, couples months back."

"Oh? What happened?"

"We made out in his car."

The two fell in silence, the surrounding patrons engaged with laptops and coffees while smooth jazz played on air between the two teen boys. At some point, the barista called out Kyle's order and he stood from his spot by Craig.

"Sorry."

Craig buried his face into his hands, feeling as if he would willing let God take him from his mortal coral were he given the chance in his stupid mistake.

"Hey."

Craig looked up, Kyle holding a cup tray of varying sizes of cups within. He offered a smile, tilting his head with his phone in his spare hand.

"We should get together," Kyle said, still grinning. "Bring Clyde and Token, Stan would be down, and it would be a good opportunity to turn things around a little bit."

Craig studied Kyle's expression. The smile sat to purely on his litely rosey lips, his freckles drowning his cheeks wrapped in the curls seeping out from beneath the ushanka keeping the rest of the thousand curls atop the ginger's head in check. Eyes staring back at him awaiting his answer, the light sheen over the sparkling green like rare minerals.

A single word tease and at the end of his tongue but would refuse to be uttered.

Kyle's smiling mug never faltered however, and he simply nodded. "I get it if you're not, but I mean if you still have Stan's number I can have him text you mine if you're interested after all." He turned towards the front doors of the coffee shop before flicking his head back. "Later, dude!"

The doors swung shut behind him, the cold air shooting out past him greeted Craig in a second's embrace and stung his nose. The words sat on the roasting scent in the air before him, the spot where he stood once stood forever disturbed him.

"Hey, man! Sorry I took so long," Clyde returned, smiling as he wiped off his hands. "Don't think I'll ever be able to wash out the smell-Wait, what happened?"

Craig eyed the spot, his heart uneasy and hands uneasily holding the coffee cup.

"Craig?" Clyde reached down and shook the teen's shoulder. "Did you guys fight, what happened?"

"No," Craig said, shaking his head before pushing away Clyde's hand and rising from his seat. "Come on, let's go to Token's."

As he approached the door, Craig was tugged back by Clyde. He wanted to turn and yell at his friend, but found him staring back with concern. "I meant it when I said that I'd be there as quick as you needed me."

Craig stared back with tired eyes, tongue poking around at the inside of his cheek. "I mean it, I'm fine."

Letting out a sigh, Clyde nodded and the two departed


End file.
